SUZANNE  ANTROBU 


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The  King's  Messenger 


91  Botoel 


By 

Suzanne  Antrobus 


New    York  and  London 

Harper   &    Brothers    Publishers 
1902 


Copyright,  1901,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 
All  rights  rtitrvea. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  IN  THE  KING'S  NAME I 

II.  VIVE  LE  ROl! 15 

III.  A  THREAT 2J 

IV.  "  JEANNE  POCHE — AT  YOUR  SERVICE  "...  39 
V.  A  ROSE 59 

VI.  THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 71 

VII.  "  THEIR  VERY  FRAGRANCE  SPEAKS  OF  YOU  "  78 

VIII.  LOVE  IS  LIFE 101 

IX.  A  WARNING 121 

X.  "  I  WILL  LOVE  THEE  EVERMORE  " 132 

XI.  THE  SIEUR  DE  GLAUCOS  IS  BAFFLED       .      .      .  148 

XII.  THE  SPIES  OF  FRANCE 1 62 

XIII.  "  YOUR     LOUISIANA     IS      FULL     OF     STRANGE 
THINGS  " 169 

XIV.  THE  AGENT  FROM  FRANCE l8l 

XV.  "  OH,  JEANNE,   JEANNE,  SWEETHEART !"  .      .      .  190 

XVI.  "  GOOD-BYE,  MY  CAPTAIN  " 203 

xvii.  ROSSART'S  AMBITION 223 

XVIII.  FIGHTING  FOR  A  SHADOW 228 

XIX.  COME  BACK 239 

XX.  ROSSART  INTERCEPTS  MARCELLO 250 

XXI.  AT  LAVILLE'S  HOUSE 257 

XXH.  THE  UNEXPECTED 27! 

XXin.  THE  MEETING 279 


2134156 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

xxiv.  D'ARTIN'S  ADVICE 291 

XXV.  A  PRISONER  OF  THE  KING 297 

XXVI.  MARCELLO  INTERCEDES 304 

XXVII.  THE  PACKET 308 

XXVIII.  THE  TOAST 317 

XXIX.  THE  TRIAL 323 

XXX.  LOVE'S  VICTORY 336 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

CHAPTER  I 
IN    THE   KING'S   NAME 

IT  was  the  year  1728,  in  the  wild  land  of  Lou- 
isiana. 

A  southern  moon  poured  its  silver  light  down 
upon  the  confused  mass  of  palmettoes,  low  pal- 
isade houses,  willow  jungles,  and  wide-spreading 
live-oaks  which  formed  the  little  settlement  of 
New  Orleans  at  that  day.  The  vapor-laden  at- 
mosphere was  odorous  with  the  scent  of  night- 
blooming  plants.  The  wind  swept  the  green 
levee,  made  shadowy  ripples  on  the  water  in  the 
ditches,  and  soft  harmonies  among  the  reeds 
at  the  edges.  Bull-frogs  croaked  from  out  the 
shadows;  light  music,  scraps  of  song,  floated  on 
the  pensive  air,  penetrated  by  some  plaintive  love 
melody  which  vibrated  passionately  through  the 
stillness  of  the  night. 

The  whole  population  of  New  Orleans  seemed 
to  be  passing  and  repassing  under  the  live-oaks 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

aiound  the  Place  d'Armes — the  most  animated 
promenade  in  the  settlement — or  agreeably  idling 
away  the  night  hours  on  the  rue  Royale  and 
rue  de  Chartres,  where  were  situated  the  homes 
of  many  of  the  colony's  officials  and  potentates. 
There  was  much  laughter  and  gay  chatter  in  the 
dim  light  of  the  falling  night,  a  sweet  uncon- 
sciousness of  impending  troubles.  The  soldiers  in 
their  plumed  hats  and  swords;  the  coureurs  de 
bois,  with  leather  -  fringed  leggings  and  tunics 
and  fur  caps;  the  priests  in  black  cassocks  and 
broad  hats;  the  women  and  children;  slaves  and 
masters,  all  moved  in  a  panorama  of  picturesque 
groupings  In  the  vast  calm  of  the  new  country, 
the  bepanniered  and  bepowdered  beauties  with 
their  lavish  display  of  jewels  and  laces,  and  the 
officers  and  fine  gentlemen  clad  in  satin  doublet 
and  silken  hose,  whose  names  have  been  handed 
down  in  lists  of  honor,  had  scant  provision  for 
amusement  save  what  they  made  for  themselves. 
The  white  moon  cast  a  broad  sheet  of  brightness 
across  the  mute  Place  d'Armes,  silhouetting  the 
dark  walls  of  the  parish  church  against  the  steel 
blue  sky.  The  wind  rustled  the  boughs  of  a 
live-oak  near  the  Government  House,  and  up  in 
the  shadowy  leafage,  a  mocking-bird  warbled 
its  nocturnal  song.  Myriads  of  stars,  cold  and 
quiet,  gemmed  the  vault  of  the  heavens,  and  oc- 
casionally the  church  bell,  ringing  lazily,  called 
the  devout  to  service. 

2 


IN    THE    KING'S    NAME 

Two  men  halted  on  one  of  the  paths  that  diag- 
onally crossed  the  coarse  grass  of  the  Place 
d'Armes.  The  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  a  weather- 
beaten  old  soldier,  calm,  stoical,  and  almost  agres- 
sive  in  his  manner,  faced  the  less  imposing  Ros- 
sart,  inspector  of  police.  Swift  as  lightning, 
the  inspector's  searching  glance  swept  over  the 
scene,  dwelling  longest  on  the  lighted  space  across 
the  corner  in  front  of  the  Cafe  d'Orleans,  where  a 
crowd  of  men,  the  most  prominent  in  the  settle- 
ment, were  sitting  about  at  little  tables,  drinking 
and  discussing  the  politics  of  the  day.  The 
sound  of  their  rapid  voices,  loud  and  oath-be- 
sprinkled, came  in  quick  succession  through 
the  stillness.  Rossart  placed  his  finger  to  his 
lips  with  a  warning  gesture. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  turned  sharply  about 
and  drew  himself  up  with  a  soldierly  air.  He 
wore  the  uniform  of  the  French  palace  guard, 
and  his  face  suggested  a  mind  fatigued  with 
the  burden  of  many  problems. 

"What  is  it?"  he  inquired. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause,  and  the  laughter 
over  the  way  grew  louder,  mingled  with  gay  bad- 
inage. 

"Speak  cautiously,"  urged  Rossart,  in  little 
above  a  whisper.  "  New  Orleans  has  lately  taken 
on  a  republican  air,  and  he  is  a  wise  man  who  can 
single  out  the  king's  enemies  nowadays  from  his 
friends.  We  hardly  dare  mention  them  ourselves, 

3 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

old  soldier.  Poor  France  is  torn  asunder  with  her 
troubles.  Parbleu!  a  colonial  possession  is  a 
hornet's  nest  about  her  ears." 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  laughed  grimly,  and 
Rossart  joined  him. 

"But  fortune  favors  us,  Rossart,  especially 
you,  and  never  should  duty  be  more  graciously 
received.  Away  back  j^onder  your  ways  seemed 
narrow,  but  here  duty  points  to  high  places." 

"  Ma  foi  /"  exclaimed  Rossart.  "  Truly  it  is  a 
long  step  from  the  position  I  occupied  in  France 
to  the  power  I  hold  here.  But  it  is  for  that  very 
reason  we  brave  the  dangers  of  colonial  service. 
Do  not  the  years  of  such  duty  count  double  here?" 

The  man's  handsome  face  looked  ugly  as  he 
frowned  at  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos. 

"It  may  be  an  unholy  thing  to  gloat  over  the 
downfall  of  a  human  being,  and  yet  I  swear  my 
power  would  not  be  half  so  sweet  did  it  not  point 
to  that  end." 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  returned  his  glance  with 
a  severe  scrutiny,  and  then  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"By  the  blessed  saints,  you  are  vindictive, 
Rossart.  Charity  becomes  the  victor,  and  it  is 
to  our  triumph  you  owe  your  advancement.  Bear 
that  in  mind,  my  friend." 

Rossart  hung  his  head,  stung  for  the  mo- 
ment by  his  companion's  reproach. 

"You  are  a  hot  man,  old  soldier/'  replied  Ros- 
4 


IN    THE    KING'S    NAME 

sart,  cynically.  "But  despite  your  warlike  de- 
meanor, you  are  filled  with  woman's  fancies.  This 
is  a  time  when  action  and  not  sentiment  speaks 
for  a  man." 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  stood  erect,  motionless  as 
a  statue.  He  had  the  air  of  a  Roman  general, 
and  the  stern,  unswerving  gaze  of  one  who  was 
not  afraid. 

"  I  seek  to  be  just,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Rossart, 
remember  that  where  there  is  heart,  there  will  al- 
ways be  sentiment,  and  that  is  our  feeling  for 
France  and  the  king." 

"Self-advancement,"  suggested  Rossart. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"I  credit  you  with  better  things,"  he  said,  sim- 
ply. "  Self-advancement  should  be  the  outgrowth 
of  allegiance." 

"Yours  is  a  very  uncompromising  polky,  old 
soldier.  To  be  sure,  we  are  all  for  the  king,  but 
each  in  his  own  way." 

"There  may  be  various  wrays,  but  only  one 
right  way,  Rossart.  (  You  are  a  man  of  mischiev- 
ous suggestions,  but  I  prefer  to  think  your  heart 
is  true."  He  paused  a  moment,  sighing  wearily, 
then  went  on,  with  feeling:  "There  have  been 
rumors  afloat  in  the  colony  against  every  man. 
You  have  not  escaped,  but  it  is  my  policy  to  be- 
lieve in  a  man  until  I  know  he  is  not  trustworthy. 
Rossart,  do  not,  I  pray  you,  play  us  false.  If  you 
are  with  us  in  our  work  here,  it  must  be  heart  and 

5 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

soul.  There  has  been  some  question  of  Spanish 
rule — "  he  hesitated.  "  It  is  only  a  whisper,  but 
every  true  son  of  France  should  resent  it." 

Rossart  moved  uneasily. 

"There  can  be  no  question  of  Spanish  rule 
here,"  he  said,  quickly.  "The  entire  colony, 
with  one  accord,  is  French  in  its  allegiance." 

"Yes,  but  Bienville's  friends  are  not  our 
friends." 

"But  his  friends  are  the  sons  of  France." 

"Ah!  there  lies  our  hope,"  said  the  Sieur  de 
Glaucos,  earnestly.  "  Bienville's  real  friends  are 
as  much  for  Louis  as  we  are;  but  the  mass  of 
trappers,  redemptionists,  and  even  some  of  the 
soldiers,  are  easily  moved." 

"Think  you  so?" 

"  In  so  small  a  community  a  strong  voice  counts 
for  much,  and  a  strong  man  could  turn  the  tide 
either  way.  Old  Bienville  could  turn  the  tide  his 
way.  There  are  many  who  are  wild  for  his  return. 
Every  fresh  Indian  atrocity  is  laid  to  the  change 
of  government.  Perier  is  a  good  governor,  but  he 
cannot  control  the  Indians  as  Bienville  did.  Mon 
Dieu!  these  are  trying  days  for  Louisiana!" 

Rossart  shook  his  head  and  furtively  watched 
the  Cafe  d'Orleans  with  a  jubilant  smile  on  his 
face. 

"  Of  a  truth,  Bienville's  rule  over  these  people 
was  of  iron;  but  enough  of  him.  Who  comes 
with  the  king's  message?  If  those  papers  fall 

6 


IN    THE    KING'S    NAME 

into  the  enemies'  hands  " — he  lowered  his  voice 
and  spoke  with  something  of  fear — "our  cause  is 
lost,  and  it  wrere  better  a  thousand  times  to  be  a 
Bienville  than  to  bring  Fleury's  wrath  upon  us. 
The  cardinal  is  a  wise  father,  but,  ma  foi!  what 
an  implacable  enemy!  He  does  not  wish  to  ap- 
pear in  this  business  until  the  final  crash  comes. 
Look  to  that,  old  soldier!" 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  smiled  mysteriously,  the 
strong  mouth,  with  the  wrinkles  about  it,  hard- 
ening into  a  straight  line. 

"I  do  not  know  who  the  messenger  will  be, 
though  I  hope  a  tried  one/'  he  replied,  thought- 
fully. "It  was  to  have  fallen  to  Poche.  The 
ship  is  expected  soon,  and  the  question  of  the 
messenger  will  be  settled  before  long.  Poch6  is 
not  a  wise  man,  but  his  discretion  is  his  own 
safety;  instinctively  he  will  be  on  his  guard." 

"  What  a  surprise  it  will  be  if,  after  all,  the  India 
Company  should  give  up  its  charter!" 

"Ay,  and  a  triumph  to  Bienville's  friends." 

"It  is  said  that  Madame  Poch6  comes  out 
with  her  husband,"  suggested  Rossart,  careless- 
ly. "  D'Artin  tells  me  they  expect  her  also." 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  turned  his  eyes  on  Ros- 
sart in  amazement,  the  quick  gaze  showing  for  an 
instant  a  hidden  fire  which  burned  in  his  eyes. 
Then  he  laughed  ironically. 

"  No  other  woman  can  equal  her  for  doing  un- 
expected things,"  he  said,  conclusively. 

7 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"  It  is  strange  that  a  beauty  like  Madame  Poche 
should  seek  to  visit  a  rough  country  like  this/' 
retorted  Rossart,  smiling  meaningly.  "She 
must  know  from  Poche  that  Louisiana  is  in  an 
unsettled  condition,  and  that  danger  threatens 
certain  persons  in  case  of  a  change  of  administra- 
tion. Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  old  soldier,  that 
women  often  allow  their  fear  for  those  they  are 
deeply  interested  in  to  run  away  with  their  judg- 
ment?" 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  frowned  stormily. 

Rossart  continued,  impudently : 

"  My  lady  Jeanne — pardon  the  familiarity,  it  is 
an  old  name  used  by  madame's  intimates — may 
have  an  object  of  attraction  in  Louisiana.  She 
may  have  a  lover  out  here." 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  laid  his  hand,  long  and 
thin,  with  large  joints,  on  Rossart's  shoulder  with 
a  fierce  pressure. 

"A  woman  like  Madame  Jeanne  Poche  needs 
no  such  attraction  for  an  adventure.  She  would 
go  to  the  devil  if  the  fancy  took  her,  simply  for 
the  experience,  and  no  man  need  flatter  himself 
that  he  could  be  the  cause.  I  have  not  seen  her 
in  years,  but  I  remember  her  bewildering  moods, 
her  untamed  spirit,  her — " 

His  voice  was  oddly  gentle,  and  sank  to  a  whis- 
per. He  gazed  across  the  road,  with  his  eyes 
resting  on  the  moonlit  market-place.  He  had 
forgotten  Rossart's  presence,  and  his  words, 

8 


IN    THE    KING'S    NAME 

though  they  explained  nothing,  startled  the  in- 
spector by  their  earnest  utterance.  He  looked 
curiously  at  the  tall  military  figure.  The  moon- 
light streaming  full  upon  the  white  cloth  doublet, 
trimmed  in  gold,  and  the  three-cornered  hat 
which  he  wore  firmly  on  his  white  queue,  ideal- 
ized the  massive  strength  of  the  man  and  the 
fascinating  gravity  of  the  grim  face.  For  sev- 
eral years  now  this  man  had  been  part  of  the 
very  life  of  Louisiana.  A  succession  of  hazard- 
ous enterprises  had  woven  his  name  into  the 
most  critical  events  of  the  country,  and  though 
earnest  and  singularly  free  from  guile,  he  had 
been  taciturn,  cynical,  and  grimly  contemptuous 
of  women.  There  was  no  vanity  in  his  words, 
but  a  certain  desperate  calmness,  peculiar  to  the 
man  who  would  forcibly  waive  aside  an  ab- 
straction. Rossart  was  afraid  to  speak  for  a 
moment.  The  Sieur  de  Glaucos's  flights  of  anger 
were  well  known.  There  was  a  short  silence, 
while  the  old  soldier  seemed  to  be  thinking. 

"Madame  Poche  is  a  rare  beauty/'  ventured 
Rossart,  at  length.  "It  is  said  all  men  at  the 
court  of  France  have  been  enamoured  of  her  in 
turn." 

"Madame  Poche  is  not,  strictly  speaking,  a 
beautiful  woman/'  replied  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos. 
"Her  features  are  too  irregular;  but  hers  is  a 
beauty  more  of  expression  and  soul  than  of  feat- 
ure. She  has  an  active,  though  vagrant  brain, 

9 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

and  a  picturesque  mind,  with  a  certain  untamable 
element  in  her  nature  that  works  witchcraft  with 
men.  She  has  a  noble  character,  but  a  variable 
nature  it  is  true;  volatile,  fascinating,  brilliant, 
full  of  passion  and  fire.  Ah,  Rossart!  that  is 
what  conquers  us  in  a  woman!  That  kind  of 
beauty  is  more  to  be  feared  than  mere  outward 
charm;  it  lasts  longer  and  goes  deeper." 

"But  she  is  like  ice,  as  impassive  as  a  moon- 
beam/' interrupted  Rossart,  hastily.  Then,  as 
if  spurred  by  some  reminiscence:  "She  would 
goad  a  man  to  madness." 

"Madame  Poche  is  one  of  the  women  whom 
fate  elects  to  be  loved  devotedly,  and  by  many 
men,"  replied  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  unheeding 
the  other's  meaning.  "But  those  who  love 
her  soon  learn  that  she  favors  none;  for  she  is 
as  unattainable  as  the  moonbeam  you  speak  of, 
Rossart." 

"  Be  not  so  certain." 

"But  I  know,"  fiercely  returned  the  Sieur  de 
Glaucos.  "  Ma  foi !  one  wonders  how  it  happened 
that  the  courtly  Comte  d'Artin  gave  his  daughter 
to  a  man  like  Poche." 

"If  report  speak  truly,  d'Artin  can  hardly  sit 
in  judgment  on  another  man,"  said  Rossart.  "  He 
seems  to  have  been  renowned  in  France  for  his 
vintage  and  the  number  of  his  cups." 

"  There  may  be  evil  said  of  him,  but  he  is  a 
gentleman  and  a  man  of  fine  sensibilities.  As 

10 


IN    THE    KING'S    NAME 

for  his  daughter,  mon  Dieu!  lead  her  not  into 
temptation." 

Rossart  smote  the  still  air  with  an  ugly  laugh. 

"She  could  stand  the  test  as  well  as  any. 
Doubt  not,  old  soldier,  she  will  yet  love,  as  many 
women  before  her  have  loved.  I  swear  Poch6  is 
a  mere  figurehead,  as  far  as  the  emotions  of  her 
heart  are  concerned.  Ma  foi !  if  the  ice  ever  melt, 
how  my  lady  Jeanne  will  love!" 

"But  how  she  will  suffer!"  The  Sieur  de 
Glaucos  sighed  deeply.  "Let  us  hope  no  such 
fate  awaits  her." 

Rossart  smiled  cynically. 

"Who  can  tell?  It  may  have  befallen  her  ere 
now.  She  leaves  the  gay  life  of  France  for  this 
wilderness — why?  It  is  a  long  journey  to  gratify 
a  mere  whim,  and  Madame  Poche  will  find  our 
small  world  dull  after  Versailles.  We  are  a  wild 
lot  for  dainty  women  to  associate  with.  Do  you 
understand,  old  soldier — what  if  Madame  Poche 
should  have  a  lover  here,  after  all?" 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  growled  savagely. 

"Nay!  nay!  thou  grizzled  warrior!  Love  is 
a  moulding  passion.  It  changes  many  a  saintly 
soul."  Rossart  smiled.  "Madame  Poch£  will 
endure  New  Orleans,  but  why?"  He  paused  and 
looked  at  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  with  a  meaning 
glance  in  his  full  eyes,  which  the  latter  could  not 
see  in  the  darkness,  and  then,  snapping  his  fin- 
gers lightly,  he  continued:  "But  our  world  is 

ii 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

what  we  make  it,"  he  laughed  sarcastically, 
"and  I  have  formed  mine  pretty  much  to  my 
liking  so  far." 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  did  not  reply  immediate- 
ly, and  when  he  did  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
Madame  Poche. 

"  The  India  Company  must  last  for  some  time 
yet,  anyway,  Rossart.  That  was  the  substance 
of  the  last  petition  that  went  to  Cardinal  Fleury. 
We  must  be  sure  of  ourselves;  haste  might  ruin 
us." 

Suddenty  he  stopped,  and  with  a  keen  ear, 
trained  to  catch  the  slightest  sound,  he  caught 
and  singled  out  a  laugh  from  the  Cafe  d'Orleans. 
Melodious,  far  reaching,  harmonious,  it  came 
through  the  sweet  stillness  from  the  brightly 
lighted  saloon. 

"Laville!"  he  ejaculated,  with  no  change  of 
countenance. 

"How  I  hate  him!"  said  Rossart,  impulsively. 

"  Be  careful,  Rossart.  Laville  dominates  every 
scene  in  this  colony.  Remember,  too,  he  is  for 
Bienville." 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
his  voice  was  full  of  emotion,  as  he  continued  : 

"Upon  my  soul,  I  wish  he  were  on  our  side. 
Once  he  was  all  for  the  king,  but  Bienville's  de- 
feat robbed  Louis  of  a  worthy  champion.  If 
ever  Bienville  returns,  then  it  will  be  victory  for 
Laville,  and  long  live  the  king!" 

12 


IN     THE    KING'S    NAME 

"He  is  the  king's  enemy/'  muttered  Rossart 
under  his  breath. 

"No,  you  are  wrong.  Laville  resents  the 
state's  interference  in  Bienville's  career.  He 
looks  upon  the  old  commandant  as  the  natural 
governor  of  Louisiana,  and  his  loyalty  and 
true-hearted  though  mistaken  patriotism  do  him 
honor." 

"Laville  is  visionary." 

"He  is  a  brave  soldier." 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  turned  his  face  towards 
the  Cafe  d'Orleans. 

"I  have  known  Laville  for  years  as  a  gentle- 
man by  birth  and  instinct.  He  is  a  man  of  un- 
questionable honor  and  of  unflinching  courage." 

"I  tell  you  that,  if  he  is  not  watched,  Laville 
will  yet  upset  our  plans,"  exclaimed  Rossart. 
"I  hate  the  man." 

The  old  soldier  sighed  regretfully. 

"  This  is  no  time  for  personal  revenge,  Rossart. 
If  Laville  is  an  enemy  to  our  cause,  he  is  an  open 
foe." 

"  He  must  be  watched,"  said  Rossart,  remember- 
ing old  grievances. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  shook  his  head  and 
sighed. 

"Farewell,  comrade;  I  must  be  off  to  Biloxi  in 
an  hour.  Watch  for  the  messenger  from  France. 
If  it  should  be  Poche,  tell  him  I  will  return  soon. 
The  message  may  be  to  you,  or  it  may  be  Perier, 

13 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

or  myself.  In  any  event  it  will  be  the  same.  We 
are  brothers  in  one  cause.  We  three  have  the 
password.  Remember  it,  Rossart.  'In  the 
king's  name.'  ; 

The  warmth  of  a  cause  for  which  he  had  often 
risked  life  itself  stole  suddenly  over  the  stern- 
browed  features  of  the  old  soldier,  and  he  pressed 
Rossart's  hand. 

"Remember  it  well.  By  the  stars!  we  will  be 
an  empire  yet.  In  the  king's  name  we  \vait." 

Rossart  pressed  his  hands  in  silence,  then, 
with  a  cautious  glance  across  the  square,  he  re- 
peated the  password,  solemnly: 

"In  the  king's  name  we  wait!" 


CHAPTER  II 
VIVE    LE    ROl! 

THE  Sieur  de  Glaucos  halted  on  the  banquette 
outside  of  the  Cafe  d'  Orleans.  The  picture 
called  to  mind  by  the  password  burned  in  his 
brain,  and  stayed  him  for  a  moment  from  crossing 
the  threshold. 

"  A  new  regime  and  happy  days  for  Louisiana/' 
he  murmured. 

He  stood  there,  tall  and  straight,  his  immense 
mustache  and  harsh  hair  prominent  in  the  ra- 
diance from  the  streaming  lights  within.  He 
had  dreams,  but  to  him  they  were  realities,  and 
though  his  had  been  a  day  of  action,  he  often  con- 
ceived greater  deeds  than  could  ever  be  achieved. 
Some  new  vista  had  been  disclosed  by  the  magic 
words,  and  his  restless  face  expressed  an  eager 
desire  for  conquest.  He  was  awed  into  silence 
by  the  stupendous  prospect,  and  the  fierce  vibra- 
tion of  his  hopes  was  mirrored  on  his  strong  face. 

He  glanced  up  at  the  low-browed  story-and-a- 
half  building  before  him.  It  was  shadowed  by  a 
hoary,  moss  -  shrouded  live-oak,  through  which 
the  moonbeams  peeped  at  intervals,  etherealizing 

15 


THE    KING'S     MESSENGER 

the  clapboards,  and  consigning  one  part  of  the 
structure  to  an  oblivion  of  shadow.  The  dim 
walls  sheltered  many  conspirators.  What  a 
world  of  doubt,  and  what  a  waste  of  enthusiasm ! 
He  was  thinking  of  those  he  liked  and  would  have 
had  with  him  in  the  cause.  He  went  slowly  up 
the  steps,  for  the  structure  was  raised  several 
feet  from  the  ground,  with  a  wide  gallery  in  front, 
and  an  awning-like  covering  overhead,  reaching 
over  the  banquette.  A  barrier  of  banana-trees 
and  tall,  jagged  palmettoes  on  one  side  formed  a 
screen  for  those  who  cared  to  sit  under  the  cypress- 
trees  in  the  garden,  and  a  fragrant  wall  of  orange- 
trees  grew  not  far  from  the  building  on  the  other 
side. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  looked  in  through  the 
open  door.  Back  against  the  farther  wall,  he 
could  see  tiers  and  tiers  of  shelves  piled  high  with 
flagons  and  cups.  There  was  every  vintage 
under  the  sun,  strong  drink  and  weak  drink, 
and  a  variety  of  tropical  syrups,  with  great  bas- 
kets of  limes  and  lemons,  their  yellow  skins  glow- 
ing against  the  dark  shelves. 

All  through  the  long  room  grave  men  and  rol- 
licking men,  old  men  and  young  men,  men  of 
affairs,  men  who  in  those  early  days  gave  sta- 
bility to  the  province  and  strength  to  their  cause, 
were  congregated  in  the  Caf6  d' Orleans.  The 
Sieur  de  Glaucos  walked  in  amid  the  clouds  of 
smoke,  the  hum  of  many  voices,  the  click  of  glass- 

16 


VIVE    LE    ROl! 

es,  and  the  glare  of  many  lights.  He  knew  them 
all  well,  and  the  wit  and  capabilities  of  each  had 
been  weighed  in  his  mind  more  than  once.  That 
he  was  held  in  high  regard  could  be  seen  by  the 
manner  in  which  he  was  greeted. 

There  was  an  expression  of  wistful  regret  on 
his  face,  which  caused  more  than  one  mind  there 
to  become  suddenly  apprehensive.  He  strode 
through  the  room,  and  stood  looking  about  as 
though  lost  in  a  dream.  Suddenly  his  eyes 
lighted  on  a  tall,  slender  man,  in  plumed  hat 
and  splendid  uniform,  standing  near  the  door, 
with  a  shaggy  brown  dog  on  the  floor  at  his  feet. 
When  he  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips,  he  spoke  in 
a  soft,  drawling  voice  that,  nevertheless,  vibrated 
with  a  note  of  passion. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  surveyed  with  interest 
the  proud,  handsome  face.  The  wide-open  blue 
eyes,  straight,  dark  eyebrows  denoted  fearless 
courage,  and  the  strong,  clearly  chiselled  features 
had  an  intellectual  energy  in  every  outline.  Then 
he  sauntered  over  to  him,  and  patted  the  dog  at 
his  feet. 

"  Well,  Laville,  my  lad,  what  a  fellow  you  are 
for  dumb  things !  To  my  certain  knowledge  you 
are  never  without  this  dog/' 

"My  best  friend/'  remarked  the  other,  laconi- 
cally. "  There  is  not  another  living  thing  in  the 
wide  wrorld  that  holds  me  in  such  affectionate  re- 
gard." 

B  17 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

He  stooped  down  and  stroked  the  dog's  head, 
gazing  wistfully  into  its  brown  eyes,  for  though 
companionable  and  liked  by  many,  there  was  no 
affection  for  Laville  so  genuine  as  that  borne  him 
by  his  canine  friend. 

"We  are  old  comrades,"  he  said,  gently,  "but 
old  Jupiter  is  the  better  of  the  two.  But  how  go 
affairs  in  the  province?" 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  observed  Laville's  face 
grow  pensive,  with  a  winning  tenderness  about 
the  mouth. 

"My  dear  Laville!  Have  you  forgotten  that 
no  ship  from  France  has  touched  our  shores  these 
many  months?  Louisiana  is  always  well  until 
news  from  the  seat  of  trouble  reaches  us." 

Laville  laughed  the  same  harmonious  laugh 
that  had  thrilled  the  blood  of  the  old  soldier  a  short 
time  before,  and  tilted  his  hat  rakishly  on  one  side. 

"A  plague  upon  your  black  brows!  Your 
countenance  is  gloomy  enough  to  frighten  chil- 
dren. Mon  Dieu!  I  thought  surely  somewhat 
must  be  wrong." 

!'To  the  devil  with  you,  boy!  When  Louisi- 
ana's fate  is  mentioned  it  behooves  all  good  pa- 
triots to  be  brave  men,  and  a  brave  man  shows 
not  a  careless  face  in  times  like  these." 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  paused  to  light  his  pipe. 

"But  you  are  young.  You  can  give  a  good 
sword  -  thrust,  Laville,  but  you  are  too  reckless, 
too  careless  with  your  trusty  weapon  betimes." 

18 


VIVE    LE    ROl! 

"Thou  wise  old  Glaucos  I"  cried  Laville,  ad- 
vancing. "Come,  gentlemen,  a  drink  to  our 
hero's  health.  Brave  men  are  dear  to  the  king. 
He  must  love  you  well,  old  soldier." 

His  strong  voice  went  ringing  down  the  room, 
and  he  slipped  his  arm  over  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos's 
shoulder,  the  gravity  and  dignity  of  his  carriage 
commanding  a  hearing. 

"  Peste !  I  feel  my  head  tottering  on  my  shoul- 
ders the  instant  you  touch  me!"  roared  the  Sieur 
de  Glaucos,  in  good -humor.  "You  are  like  a 
pirate,  with  your  great  sinewy  limbs  and  dare- 
devil manners.  Take  your  iron  hands  off  me, 
and  I  swear  we'll  drink  until  you  cry  quits.  To 
the  devil,  or  I  will  kill  you,  Laville!" 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  wrenched  himself  free 
from  Laville's  grasp,  and  sat  down  at  one  of  the 
little  tables. 

"Now,  then,  Laville,  bring  on  your  wine." 

Laville  seated  himself  opposite,  and  several 
others,  among  them  Antoine  d'Artin,  counsellor 
for  the  India  Company,  and  de  la  Chaise,  the 
king's  commissary,  drew  near  and  formed  a  pict- 
uresque group,  gay,  pleasure  -  loving,  and  com- 
posed of  the  brightest  and  best  wits  and  finest 
gentlemen  in  the  young  colony. 

"Ma  foi!  but  you  are  a  brave  lad,  Laville," 
said  de  la  Chaise,  stretching  his  long  legs  under 
the  table.  "But  have  a  care  lest  your  rashness 
some  time  upset  your  best  intentions." 

19 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

Laville  laughingly  twisted  his  mustache,  and 
spoke  with  a  cavalier  air. 

"  It  sometimes  leads  to  folly,  I  admit,  but  certes ! 
life  is  not  worth  living  if  patterned  by  others  for 
me." 

"Bravo!"  cried  d'Hernenville,  a  tall  guards- 
man in  a  red  coat.  "  A  truce  to  moralizing.  It 
is  enough  to  be  strong  in  the  head ;  but,  Laville, 
how  about  the  heart?" 

He  laughed  uproariously,  and  winked  at  the 
Sieur  de  Glaucos. 

Laville  smiled  grimly. 

"Your  jest  is  untimely,  monsieur,"  said  La- 
ville, gravely.  "Fair  women  play  so  small  a 
part  in  the  colony  that  we  like  to  hold  them  in 
reverence." 

"But  when  the  ship  comes  with  the  filles  a  la 
cassette  it  will  not  be  so.  Think  of  the  maids 
that  will  be  sent  to  us.  Vive  Dieu  I  there  will  be 
a  chance  for  wives." 

"A  plague  on  matrimony!"  exclaimed  de 
Beauchamp,  a  slim  young  fellow  with  a  won- 
derful length  of  limbs  and  of  graceful  build. 
"Marriage  is  the  death  of  love,  and  God  for- 
bid all  wise  men  from  killing  so  beautiful  a 
sentiment!" 

D'Hernenville  retorted,  in  a  mincing  tone: 

"  Beauchamp,  it  would  be  very  sad,  believe  me, 
to  slay  so  fine  a  thing,  but  there  are  different 
maids  as  there  are  different  men,  and  she  who 

20 


VIVE    LE    ROl! 

loves  you  will  be  a  woman  of  your  level.  But 
what  say  you,  Laville;  wouldst  choose  from  the 
king's  cargo  a  maid  to  make  your  home  less 
dull?" 

Laville  laughed  easily,  and  spoke  in  a  tone  of 
reproach. 

"My  good  friends,  the  king  and  cardinal  are 
wise  beyond  a  doubt,  but  I  fain  would  keep  my- 
self free  from  petticoats  yet  a  while.  I  like  not 
your  women  of  fragile  virtue,  nor  women  of  little 
mind.  The  former  are  too  easily  bought,  and  the 
latter  a  prey  for  fools.  None  other  will  conde- 
scend to  look  at  me,"  he  went  on,  banteringly, 
"  so  I'll  bide  my  time  until  a  lady  of  high  degree 
comes  looking  for  a  husband." 

"Alas!  alas!"  sighed  de  Beauchamp,  "you 
are  faithful  to  my  theories,  but  not  so  honest  in 
your  confession." 

"So,  so!"  cried  Laville,  laughing.  "As  it  ap- 
pears you  all  know  my  will,  we  shall  wait  for  my 
story  to  make  itself  before  we  attempt  to  tell  it. 
But  what  of  you,  old  soldier;  will  you  look  to  the 
filles  a  la  cassette  for  a  wife?" 

He  slapped  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  on  the  shoul- 
ders. 

"  Peste !"  growled  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  empty- 
ing his  glass.  "  I  have  no  intention  of  placing  a 
mine  under  my  feet." 

D'Artin  laughed. 

"All  good  women  are  a  merit  to  the  sex,"  he 
21 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

said,  quietly.  "  Marry,  my  friends,  marry,  I 
say!" 

"Then  I  commit  these  worthy  men  to  your 
ministrations,  d'Artin,"  said  the  Sieur  de  Glau- 
cos.  "Lead  them  into  matrimony's  way.  Mon 
Dieu!  what  a  time  you'll  have  !" 

"Enough  of  women!"  cried  Laville.  "I  have 
a  presentiment  that  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  is  draw- 
ing us  into  a  snare." 

He  smiled  with  a  smile  at  once  sad  and  frank. 
The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  turned  his  fierce  old  eyes 
towards  Laville. 

"You  are  right,  Laville,"  he  said.  "If  your 
ardor  were  not  misplaced,  you  would  be  a  bold 
champion  of  Louisiana.  We  need  such  men  as 
you,  but  you  are  sacrificing  yourself  for  a 
shadow." 

He  felt  a  thrill  of  romance  as  his  eyes  rested 
on  the  other's  strong  face.  Laville  yawned  and 
passed  his  snuff-box  around. 

"  I  swear  that  is  what  the  whole  world  is  doing," 
he  said,  in  his  soft,  drawling  voice.  "  We  are  all 
alike.  Even  you,  my  brave  old  warrior,  build 
out  of  your  own  bosom,  and  Jupiter  there" — he 
paused  and  looked  down  at  the  dog  at  his  feet, 
then  laughed — "  sees  a  man  in  the  moon  once 
in  a  while,  and  bays  at  nothing — fanciful  as  a 
woman's  love  and  the  will  -  o'  -  the  -  wisp.  But 
pardieu !  how  pleasant  it  is  to  hear  you  talk !  It 
is  like  the  rumbling  of  guns."  His  firm  mouth, 

22 


VIVE    LE    ROl! 

always  so  ready  for  a  smile,  expanded  into  pleas- 
ant curves. 

"Come,  gentlemen/'  cried  d'Artin,  as  glasses 
were  set  before  them.  "  Drink,  drink,  gentlemen, 
or  Laville  will  think  we  do  scant  justice  to  the 
vintage/' 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  took  up  one  of  the  gob- 
lets and  drained  it  to  the  last  drop. 

"Another  flask/'  he  roared,  breaking  into  a 
great,  hoarse  laugh.  "  I  hope,  Laville,  you'll  not 
find  us  wanting." 

"A  toast,  a  toast!"  cried  d'Artin. 

All  eyes  turned  to  the  aristocratic  -  looking 
young  man,  who,  small  of  stature,  sprang  light- 
ly on  to  his  chair  and  stood  holding  his  glass 
aloft.  The  throng  were  on  their  feet  in  an  in- 
stant, pressing  about  him,  but  the  Sieur  de  Glau- 
cos kept  his  seat,  puffing  away  at  his  pipe  in  si- 
lence. The  blinking  lights  threw  their  glow  over 
the  laughing  face  of  d'Artin  —  a  smooth  face, 
with  a  mouth  as  delicate  as  a  woman's. 

"  Drink  to  our  state,  the  freedom  of  Louisiana, 
and  the  downfall  of  Company  rule,"  interrupted 
Laville,  tempestuously. 

D'Artin  set  his  glass  down  with  a  bang  on  the 
hardwood  table.  An  angry  flush  overspread  his 
delicately  cut  features,  and  his  dark  eyes  flashed 
angrily. 

"  For  shame,  Laville !  You  are  swearing 
against  your  king  and  state!" 

23 


THE    KING'S     MESSENGER 

"To  the  devil,  d'Artin,  thou  bantam!  Who 
spoke  of  the  king?  Half  of  the  province  is  tired 
of  the  Company's  rule.  Prosperity  is  more  to  be 
desired,  much  more  for  all  of  us  " — Laville  drew 
a  long  breath,  and  drank  his  wine  at  a  gulp — 
"than  sham  royalty." 

D'Artin's  face  grew  darker  as  Laville  stood 
looking  upon  him  with  obvious  amusement.  He 
moved  restlessly  under  his  deliberate  gaze,  but 
did  not  speak. 

"We  are  sufficient  unto  ourselves,"  said  La- 
ville, with  a  courageous  air,  looking  about  him 
with  superb  disdain.  And  so  brave  was  the  ap- 
pearance he  made,  with  his  intrepid  carriage,  his 
shabby  scarlet  coat  embroidered  in  gold,  and 
clanking  sword  that  had  won  him  such  renown, 
that  instinctively  every  man  was  impressed  and 
ranged  himself  on  Laville's  side. 

"Not  so  fast,  Laville,"  cried  d'Artin,  beside 
himself  with  anger.  "  On  the  writ  and  summons 
of  the  king  depends  your  safety." 

Laville  laughed  and  looked  reflective.  He 
shot  a  glance  at  the  young  man's  crimson 
face. 

"  Do  you  think  I  care  a  snap  of  my  finger  for 
Fleury's  edicts?  I  am  a  loyal  patriot,  and  a  true 
soldier.  As  such  I  will  fight  for  Louisiana.  I 
am  a  Louisianian,  and  I  am  proud  of  the  province 
which  is  now  my  country.  Down,  I  say,  with  the 
Company's  rule,  whether  in  king  or  Company's 

24 


VIVE    LE    ROl! 

name.  Mon  Dieu!  d'Artin,  you  are  much  too 
stanch  a  man  to  uphold  such  tyranny.  When 
Bienville  returns,  and  the  India  Company  is  no 
more,  then  and  then  only  shall  we  see  fine  days 
for  Louisiana."  There  was  defiance  in  his  flash- 
ing eyes,  but  his  voice  was  calm. 

D'Artin  hesitated,  still  standing  in  his  chair, 
and  looked  towards  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  who 
sat  solemnly  smoking  his  pipe.  The  latter  shook 
his  head  in  amusement. 

"Allans!"  he  said,  gently,  looking  up.  "The 
issue  will  prove  the  Company's  rule.  Laville, 
you  are  impatient.  D'Artin,  you  are  hot-headed. 
Drink,  and  let  time  deal  out  our  fate.  I  swear 
to  you  that  half  of  New  Orleans  is  mad,  and,  as 
I  live,  our  cause  is  lost  if  we  divide  among  our- 
selves." 

He  slowly  rose  to  his  feet  and  held  his  goblet 
high.  Around  him  crowded  the  others  on  every 
side,  in  the  gay  uniforms  of  soldiers,  and  in  cit- 
izens' dress.  They  were  tingling  with  excite- 
ment and  eager  for  a  stirring  scene. 

"A  toast,  a  toast!"  was  the  unanimous  cry. 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  dead  silence,  an  awe- 
some quiet.  An  eager  curiosity  swept  over  the 
crowd  as  they  waited  with  hushed  expectancy. 
Then  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  frowning  from  under 
his  heavy  brows,  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
brushed  back  his  white  hair  with  an  impatient 
gesture  and  spoke  with  grave  inspiration. 

25 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

"Drink,  comrades,  every  man  of  you!  Drink 
to  our  friendships,  our  homes,  and  our  loves. 
Drink  to  the  fate  that  will  make  these  safe  for  all. " 

"Vive  le  roi!"  shouted  the  enthusiastic  com- 
pany. "  Vive  le  roi!" 


CHAPTER  III      • 
A  THREAT 

T  AVILLE  lived  just  back  of  the  church  in  the 
*-<  rue  d' Orleans,  in  a  low  house  built  of  cypress 
and  shaded  by  magnolias.  His  garden  extended 
a  square  in  the  rear,  skirted  on  one  side  by  a  small 
field  of  indigo,  and  on  the  other  by  a  rank  growth 
of  semi-tropical  vegetation.  The  house  looked 
towards  the  river,  and  was  a  picturesque  place, 
with  a  wide  gallery  trellised  with  climbing  roses. 
Laville  liked  to  sit  there  in  the  restful  calm  of 
evening.  It  was  the  embodiment  of  perfect  quiet, 
and  during  the  night  hours  as  still  as  death. 

After  he  left  the  Cafe  d' Orleans,  Laville  went 
straight  to  r\is  house,  and  immediately  sought 
his  favorite  corner  under  the  vines.  It  occurred 
to  him,  as  he  crossed  the  gallery  and  seated  him- 
self in  his  accustomed  place,  that  the  Sieur  de 
Glaucos  had  seemed  unusually  preoccupied  that 
night.  He  unbuckled  his  sword  and  threw  it  on 
the  floor.  The  dog,  disturbed  by  the  sudden 
noise,  rose  and  stood  at  his  knee.  He  patted  the 
animal's  head  with  a  gentle  touch. 

"Poor  old  Jupiter!"  he  said.  "We  have  seen 
27 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

many  troubles  together,  but,  by  the  stars,  we'll 
weather  this  one,  too!" 

He  drew  himself  up  proudly,  a  determined 
look  in  his  eyes.  The  dog  licked  his  hand  and 
thumped  his  tail  sympathetically  on  the  hard- 
wood floor. 

"Only  a  dog,  Jupiter,"  said  Laville,  musingly. 
"  Only  a  dog,  but  dogs  don't  lie  or  bully  or  betray. 
Yes,  Jupiter,  old  boy,  you  are  your  master's  best 
friend.  We  were  in  favor  at  court  once,  but  that 
was  long  ago.  Poor  d'Artin!  But  what  can 
one  expect  of  the  India  Company's  tools?  A 
dreamer,  too;  but  I  liked  not  his  words,  Jupiter. 
The  Company  does  not  care  for  us,  old  boy;  we 
are  in  bad  odor  here.  And  Rossart — " 

His  eyes  glinted  in  the  moonlight  like  cold 
steel.  The  very  thought  of  this  man  set  his  blood 
in  a  fret — so  cold,  so  calculating,  with  his  pleas- 
ant sophistries  and  treacherous  ways. 

A  silver  moonbeam  stole  through  the  vines 
and  sent  white  rays  across  the  gallery  floor.  La- 
ville was  a  man  of  great  force,  strong,  with  dis- 
tinction of  bearing,  and  a  wonderful  determina- 
tion lurking  in  his  great,  cavernous,  blue  eyes, 
which  could  flash  and  glisten  ominously,  and  in 
his  large,  firm  mouth.  He  gave  himself  up  to 
serious  reveries  for  a  time.  If  Bienville  could 
only  be  recalled  !  He  must  work  for  that 
end! 

Refreshed  by  the  evening  air,  he  lifted  his  eyes 
28 


A    THREAT 

to  the  high,  star-gemmed  vault  where  the  moon 
was  sailing  through  light  clouds. 

"  I  wish  I  could  turn  the  tide/'  he  muttered.  "  I 
wish  I  could  turn  the  tide  for  Bienville." 

He  sat  long  in  silent  meditation,  then  all  at 
once  he  heard  some  one  come  up  the  steps  and 
pause  on  the  gallery.  In  a  flash  he  recognized 
Rossart,  the  man  who  had  been  in  his  thoughts. 
He  marvelled  to  see  him  there,  and  sprang  up 
quickly  to  meet  him,  jarred  by  his  presence  in 
the  sweet  calm  of  the  still  night. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  Laville,  Rossart  spoke  in  a 
smooth  voice. 

"  I  am  not  here  to  do  you  ill,  Laville,  though  it 
may  seem  so,  coming  thus  out  of  the  shadows 
without  a  word  of  warning." 

"The  very  opportunity  I  have  been  wishing 
for/'  said  Laville,  half  to  himself,  and  then,  with 
a  steady  glance  at  Rossart :  "  Good  !  I  will  sleep 
sounder  to-night  for  delivering  what  is  on  my 
mind/' 

Rossart  cast  a  doubtful  look  on  Laville,  which, 
howesgr,  was  lost  in  the  uncertain  light.  He  was 
very  cool,  but  swift  in  his  speech. 

"  I  have  somewhat  to  discuss  with  you,  Laville. " 

Laville  considered  a  moment. 

"We  had  better  go  inside,  then." 

The  booming  of  the  frogs  sounded  ominously 
through  the  stillness,  and  the  moonlight  flooded 
the  gallery  with  a  luminous  radiance.  Rossart 

29 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

hesitated  for  a  moment.  Laville  stepped  back 
near  the  door,  his  features  settling  into  an  ex- 
pression of  contempt. 

"  Why  do  you  hesitate?  You  have  nothing  to 
fear.  There  is  no  one  about,  except  my  servant, 
Marcello." 

He  passed  through  a  hallway  to  a  room  lighted 
by  a  solitary  torch  stuck  in  the  wall  over  the 
mantel.  The  big  apartment  looked  dull  and  des- 
olate, Rossart  thought,  as  he  followed  Laville 
and  took  a  seat  near  the  door.  Jupiter  followed 
Laville,  and  growled  so  fiercely  that  his  master 
was  compelled  to  make  him  leave  the  room. 

"A  cross  brute!"  snarled  Rossart. 

"Something  must  be  wrong/'  said  Laville,  de- 
liberately. "  Jupiter  never  gives  a  false  warning. 
Be  sure,  Rossart,  dogs  and  dumb  things  readity 
scent  an  enemy." 

Rossart  drew  back  and  grasped  the  handle  of 
his  sword. 

"  You  have  a  strange  way  of  speaking,  Laville. 
I  do  not  understand."  ^ 

"Jupiter  does,"  said  Laville,  curtly.  "It  is 
not  necessary  that  we  should.  Dogs  scent  dan- 
ger sooner  than  men,  and  their  fidelity  is  more 
reliable.  You  have  an  errand  here,  Rossart. 
Out  with  it,  and  find  plain  words  to  tell  your 
meaning,  or  pardieu !  I  shall  make  certain  to 
explain  some  of  your  deeds." 

Rossart  smiled  and  raised  his  eyebrows. 
30 


A     THREAT 

"  Evidently  I  have  had  the  misfortune  to  annoy 
you,  Laville/'  he  remarked.  "I  apologize,  I  am 
sure,  if  I  have  offended  in  aught.  Upon  my  soul, 
I  have  no  idea  of  the  offence." 

Laville  crossed  the  room  and,  leaning  against 
the  mantel-piece  with  folded  arms,  fixed  his  eyes 
searchingly  on  Rossart's  face. 

The  latter  felt  ill  at  ease,  and  let  his  eyes  wan- 
der about  the  room,  mechanically  noting  the 
barest  details  of  the  furnishings.  A  huge-posted 
bedstead  occupied  one  corner  of  the  room,  a  full 
suit  of  armor  another,  an  old  settle  and  numerous 
chairs  and  tables  filled  up  the  otherwise  bare 
chamber.  There  were  several  animal-skin  rugs 
on  the  floor,  and  many  arms  hanging  high  on 
the  walls.  A  brace  of  pistols,  drinking-cups,  and 
some  tobacco  lay  in  confusion  on  one  of  the  tables. 
At  length  Rossart's  eyes  met  Laville's. 

"I  surely  never  intended  to  offend  you,  La- 
ville," he  said. 

"  And  you  surely  do  not  suppose  your  course  of 
the  past  few  months  has  been  unknown  to  me," 
retorted  Laville.  "Naturally  one  of  your  keen 
sensibilities  must  credit  others  with  a  small  meas- 
ure of  judgment  in  such  matters.  What  of  the 
governor's  attitude  to  me?  Has  that  come  about 
without  your  influence?  What  of  the  last  news 
sent  to  the  Company?  Did  that  go  without  your 
sanction?  And  Glaucos — even  he  mistrusts  me 
now,  and  he  was  my  friend  once.  I  could  stand 


THE    KING'S     MESSENGER 

the  rest,  but,  pardieu!  Rossart,  I  will  not  have 
that.     You  understand?" 

Rossart  started  slightly,  though  he  betrayed  no 
signs  of  surprise. 

"I  make  no  false  pretences/'  he  said,  quickly 
recovering  himself.  "  I  shall  be  frank  with  you. 
As  a  man  who  has  seen  something  of  the  world, 
I  only  use  events  to  further  my  ends.  I  think 
only  of  my  own  interests.  That  is  paramount 
with  me  on  all  occasions.  Now  you  are  a  useful 
man,  Laville.  You  are  liked  in  the  colony.  I 
might  go  further,  and  say  that  there  are  some 
here  who  are  given  to  hero-worship  and  who  sigh 
for  adventure,  and  to  whom  you  seem  a  veritable 
hero.  Those  men  are  necessary  to  our  interests 
here.  To  win  them  through  you  is  our  object, 
and  it  is  to  make  that  appeal  that  I  am  here.  For- 
swear your  democratic  theories  and  join  us.  We 
wish  to  retain  all  that  is  best  and  good  for  Louisi- 
ana. I  assure  you  it  will  be  to  your  personal  in- 
terest, Laville,"  he  concluded,  insinuatingly. 

Laville  stretched  his  lithe,  strong  figure  to  its 
full  height  and  tossed  his  head  like  an  angry  lion. 

"What  would  you  have  me  do?"  he  demanded, 
in  suppressed  tones.  "Be  careful,  Rossart.  I 
warn  you  I  am  a  man  of  little  patience." 

Rossart  laughed  carelessly. 

"  You  are  too  intense,  my  friend,"  he  said,  with 
sarcasm.  "You  are  young.  Why  wear  your- 
self out?  Take  the  world  less  seriously,  man. 

32 


A    THREAT 

Go  at  a  slower  gait,  and,  I  venture  to  say,  nine 
times  out  of  ten,  events  will  shape  themselves 
your  way.  I  never  hurry.  I  think  calmly  be- 
fore entering  upon  any  enterprise,  and  I  always 
succeed.  If  I  cannot  do  it  one  way,  there  are 
other  methods,  and  I  assure  you  I  never  allow 
such  a  trivial  thing  as  a  conscience  to  stand  in 
the  path  of  my  ambition.  Conscience  is  an  in- 
tolerable inconvenience.  '* ' 

"Rossart,  I  tell  you  that  rather  ifian  stoop  to 
your  base  ends,  I  would  shoot  myself/'  exclaimed 
Laville,  with  scorn. 

Rossart  laughed  cynically. 

"Gently,  my  friend,  gently."  Then,  sudden- 
ly changing  his  mood,  he  added,  "You  know 
that  you  are  not  in  favor  with  the  powers  in 
France?" 

Laville  shrugged  his  Broad  shoulders  and 
smiled  disdainfully. 

"Not  of  late,  I  admit." 

"  But  you  do  not  know  that  even  now  there  are 
matters  afoot  which  mean — your  life,  perhaps. 
Promise  to  assist  me,  and  at  once  word  goes  to 
France  that  will  acquit  you  of  even  the  slightest 
suspicion." 

Every  instinct  of  defiance  was  aroused  in  La- 
ville, and  he  spoke  wrathfully. 

"  No,  a  thousand  times  no !  I  do  not  fear  you, 
Rossart.  I  have  fought  too  well  in  Louisiana  for 
that.  And  while  we  are  about  it  this  affront  had 
c  33 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

better  be  settled  between  us.  Name  your  time 
and  place,  and  be  gone!" 

"As  you  like,"  answered  Rossart.  "But  re- 
member, I  came  here  as  your  friend,  and  I  have 
tried  to  save  you.  You  are  acting  like  a  madman. 
You  should  not  answer  in  a  hurry.  Calmness  is 
the  companion  of  wisdom,  and  as  for  fighting 
you,  that  is  absurd.  I  say  I  am  your  friend." 

"Look  to  yourself,"  cried  Laville,  angrily.  "I 
do  not  fear  you,  nor  all  the  India  Company's 
minions.  I  shall  still  continue  to  live  as  I  have 
hitherto — a  free  man,  and  one  who  lets  no  man 
trifle  with  his  honor  or  dictate  to  his  conscience." 

"I  repeat,  Laville,  that  I  am  your  friend.  I 
warn  you  that  even  now  a  messenger  from  France 
is  expected.  This  is  a  matter  of  grave  moment 
to  you,  meaning  possible  death  if  you  continue 
in  your  obstinacy  to  defy  us." 

"  Then  let  it  be  death,  and  small  thanks  to  you 
for  your  warning.  But,  Rossart,  look  to  your 
messenger,  for,  be  the  bearer  fool,  wise  man,  or 
knave,  I  swear  I  will  outwit  him.  I  have  a  good 
sword,  and  I  know  how  best  to  use  it.  Your  tool 
shall  feel  its  point,  or  I  am  not  a  man.  Stifle  re- 
solves, Rossart,"  he  laughed,  loudly.  "There  is 
a  power  beyond  yours  that  tells  me  of  conquest. 
Look  to  it,  Rossart,  that  you  warn  your  messen- 
ger— I  reciprocate  your  trust." 

Rossart  rose.  His  black  eyes  glistened  like 
evil  stars  in  the  extreme  pallor  of  his  face.  As  he 

34 


A    THREAT 

turned  towards  the  door,  a  small  dark  object  fell 
from  the  breast  of  his  doublet  and  rolled  towards 
Laville's  feet.  It  was  an  old  velvet  case,  and  as 
it  flew  open,  disclosing  the  portrait  of  a  woman, 
Laville  stooped  down  and  gravely  handed  it  to 
Rossart,  without  examining  it. 

The  latter  laughed  idly. 

"A  pretty  woman!  That  expresses  the  defi- 
nition of  torment/'  he  said,  musingly.  "Look 
at  the  picture,  Laville,  for  you  may  soon  have  an 
opportunity  of  meeting  the  original.  It  is  my 
lady  Jeanne.  Perchance  news  of  her  has  come 
to  you  from  France." 

Laville  gazed  at  the  pictured  face  with  care- 
less admiration.  The  large  eyes,  lofty  yet  kind, 
the  softly  rounded  chin,  and  quaintly  coiffured 
hair,  strung  with  pearls,  appealed  to  his  sense  of 
beauty  with  unconscious  grace.  He  felt  annoyed 
at  Rossart  and  his  indelicacy  in  speaking  so  free- 
ly, with  a  vague  notion  stirring  in  him  that  he 
ought  to  say  something  in  defence  of  this  beau- 
tiful unknown.  He  gravely  handed  the  picture 
back  to  Rossart. 

"An  attractive  woman,  I  should  think,  and 
with  the  power  that  is  the  dower  of  all  woman- 
kind— that  of  doing  much  good." 

Rossart  laughed. 

"And  much  evil,  in  truth.  She  is  the  very 
devil  for  attractiveness,  a  creature  of  fascina- 
tion. Do  you  know,  Laville,  I  stole  that  pict- 

35 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

ure,  and  the  very  sight  of  it  makes  my  blood 
surge?" 

Laville  raised  his  eyebrows  in  disdain. 

"The  lady  should  be  proud  of  her  conquest." 

"With  that  spirit  of  acquisition  which  domi- 
nates me  when  my  interests  are  at  stake/'  con- 
tinued Rossart,  "  I  took  that  case  from  d'Artin's 
drawing-room. .  It  is  the  portrait  of  Madame 
Poche — 'my  lady  Jeanne'  is  a  fanciful  name  that 
has  fallen  to  her.  She  is  the  only  woman  I  ever 
absolutely  cared  for  in  my  life,  and  the  only  one 
who  ever  repulsed  me."  He  laughed  with  a  lan- 
guid air.  "But  the  point  of  greatest  repulsion 
with  some  women  is  often  the  point  of  strongest 
attraction.  Madame  Poche  is  a  gay  coquette, 
and  is  not  one  to  raise  the  siege  before  an  easy 
conquest." 

Laville  smiled  contempt  at  the  insinuation. 

"  I  once  knew  a  Pierre  Poche,"  said  he.  "  Can 
he  belong  to  the  same  family,  or  has  the  lady  a 
husband?  No,  in  that  case  Monsieur  Rossart 
would  not  exhibit  such  interest." 

"  Parbleu  !  that  is  just  what  makes  it  interest- 
ing," said  Rossart,  quickly.  "Pierre  Poche  is 
the  brother  of  this  woman's  husband.  The  mere 
fact  that  she  is  bound  to  another  man  troubles 
me  little.  When  I  see  a  woman  who  pleases  me 
I  do  not  consider  what  another  man  may  say 
about  it.  I  consult  my  own  convenience.  Do 
that,  Laville,  an4~you  will  always  be  happy." 

36 


A     THREAT 

"As  usual,  I  do  not  see  from  your  standpoint," 
said  Laville.  "What  about  your  pleasing  the 
woman?" 

"Sang  Dieu!  a  man  can  win  any  woman.  It 
is  only  a  question  of  time,"  answered  Rossart, 
moving  to  the  door.  "Principle  is  all  very  fine 
in  theory,  but  it  does  not  wear  well  in  actual 
life.  It  makes  one  forget.  I  never  forget.  But 
adieu,  Laville.  I  have  warned  you.  Trust  in 
your  proverbial  luck,  if  you  will,  but  beware  of 
the  messenger  from  the  king!" 

"Does  the  message  from  the  king  take  cog- 
nizance of  the  fact  that  the  wily  chief  of  police  is 
conspiring  against  the  state?  The  coureurs  de 
bois  and  the  planters  tell  grave  tales  of  muskets 
and  ammunition  that  have  found  their  way  from 
Monsieur  Rossart." 

Rossart  frowned,  and  as  quickly  smiled. 

"In  times  like  these  none  is  above  suspicion. 
Again  I  warn  you,  Laville;  beware  of  the  king's 
messenger!" 

But  Laville  was  not  the  man  to  quail.  In  the 
days  that  followed  he  adopted  a  more  reckless 
course  than  ever.  He  had  no  faith  in  Rossart's 
threats;  he  relied  on  popular  favor  to  carry  him 
through  every  emergency.  He  knew  many  of 
the  men  in  the  colony  were  fearless  and  high- 
minded,  while  others  were  ignorant  and  simple- 
hearted,  but  he  also  knew  that  they  loved  freedom 
with  so  great  an  intensity,  fostered  by  the  isola- 

37 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

tion  of  their  lives,  as  would  cause  them  to  risk  all 
in  its  defence  when  the  time  came. 

Laville  listened  to  Rossart's  retreating  foot- 
steps with  smiling  insolence.  His  was  a  san- 
guine soul,  and  now  that  Rossart  was  gone,  he 
laughed  aloud,  and  called  Marcello,  his  slave, 
for  more  lights  and  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  for  the 
night  was  chilly. 

"Bring  out  the  goblets  and  a  flagon  or  two  of 
wine,  Marcello.  They  will  all  be  here  presently 
— de  Beauchamp,  la  Tour,  Dumaine,  and  the 
others — all  good  souls,  plotting  by  day  and  gam- 
bling by  night.  And  Rossart  is  the  greatest 
gamester  of  us  all,  but  he  deals  the  devil's  own 
dice  and  plays  the  devil's  own  game  with  fate. 
And  that  woman!" — he  reflected  a  moment. 
"God  help  her,  if  she  has  attracted  Rossart!" 

Involuntarily  the  pictured  face  came  before 
him  again — the  large  gray  eyes,  the  curving  lips, 
and  the  firmly  moulded  chin  and  throat. 

"My  lady  Jeanne!"  he  murmufed,  musingly. 
"  How  well  the  name  suits  her  face!  Dieu !  what 
fools  men  are!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

"JEANNE  POCHE— AT  YOUR  SERVICE" 

ONE  morning,  six  weeks  later,  the  ship,  long 
overdue,  arrived  from  France  with  her  pre- 
cious cargo  of  casket  girls  intended  as  wives  for 
the  settlers.  No  girls  from  the  streets  of  Paris 
these,  but  pure  maidens  from  the  homes  of  France, 
and  dowered  by  the  king. 

It  was  a  little  past  noon  when  the  ship  landed. 
The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens;  soft  opaline 
clouds  floated  in  the  sky,  a  faint  wind  stirred 
the  cane-brakes,  and  the  church  bell  rang  tu- 
multously.  Beyond  the  levee,  and  in  the  Place 
d'Armes,  a  crowd  of  people,  prodigal  of  laughter 
and  blithe  with  badinage,  moved  restlessry  about. 
There  was  considerable  gold  lace  and  shabby  lux- 
ury in  their  garments,  and  a  kind  of  inequality 
among  them,  naturally  found  in  the  commingling 
of  so  many  elements.  The  population  was  large- 
ly composed  of  men  who  cared  little  for  public 
order  or  discipline.  They  stood  about  on  the 
willow-planted  levee,  and  crowded  and  rushed  to 
see  the  rosy  cheeks  and  slender  forms  of  the  girls 
of  France,  as  they  were  landed  and  grouped  to- 

39 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

gether  in  the  Place  d'Armes.  Cheer  upon  cheer 
echoed  through  the  little  settlement  amid  intense 
excitement.  The  cries  grew  wilder;  the  bell 
rang  louder ;  the  gentlemen  from  France,  in  their 
splendid  uniforms,  doffed  their  hats,  and,  as  they 
stood  there  in  picturesque  groupings  of  comely 
figures,  solemn  nuns,  brave  soldiers,  and  rough 
miners,  the  Jesuit  fathers  offered  up  a  prayer  for 
the  king  who  had  been  so  good. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  there  hovered  a 
youth,  a  mere  stripling,  with  green-gray  eyes  and 
a  fresh  complexion,  laughing  and  cheering  with 
the  rest  of  the  throng.  He  wore  a  full-skirted 
coat  of  dull  green  cloth,  knee-breeches  of  corre- 
sponding color,  a  soft  shirt  of  finest  lawn,  low, 
buckled  shoes,  and  a  three-cornered  hat.  His  hair, 
which  was  powdered,  hung  in  two  long  curls  and 
was  tied  with  dark  green  ribbon.  His  feet  and 
hands  were  singularly  small,  but  he  was  finely 
built,  and  bore  himself  with  a  kingly  grace  and 
reckless  dash  strangely  at  variance  with  his  boy- 
ishness. 

He  stood  among  the  crowd,  holding  his  head 
jauntily,  swaying  and  rollicking  with  laugh- 
ter. 

"Who  is  the  fine  little  man  over  yonder?"  he 
asked  of  a  stranger,  pointing  to  d'Artin. 

"By  our  Lady!  master/'  said  the  stranger, 
"that  is  our  counsellor,  Monsieur  d'Artin,  a 
doughty  man,  though  he  be  like  the  bantam." 

40 


"JEANNE    POCHE— AT   YOUR    SERVICE" 

The  handsome  lad  laughed  and  thrust  his 
hands  in  his  breeches-pockets. 

"Your  pardon,  monsieur,  but  this  d'Artin — 
this  strong  little  man — is  he  well  liked  in  the 
province?" 

"Not  so  popular  as  some/'  said  the  man,  light- 
ly, "  but,  by  my  faith,  he  carries  a  sword  with  the 
best  of  them." 

Then  the  stranger  passed  on,  and  the  lad  went 
jauntily  from  one  group  to  another,  speaking 
here  and  there  with  some  pretty  impudence,  and 
proving  himself  a  youth  of  ready  humor.  For 
several  hours  he  followed  the  crowd,  foremost  in 
their  spirit  of  raillery.  Then,  towards  the  close 
of  the  day,  when  the  girls  had  been  taken  to  the 
convent  and  the  people  began  to  scatter,  he  looked 
about  for  d'Artin.  All  the  afternoon  he  had  fol- 
lowed pretty  close  in  the  counsellor's  wake,  but 
never  close  enough  to  speak  to  him.  But  d'Artin 
had  disappeared — gone  home,  some  one  said — and 
for  a  second  the  gay  stripling  leaned  against  the 
trunk  of  a  tree  in  speculative  silence,  glancing  up 
impatiently  at  one  man  after  another  as  they 
passed  him.  At  length  he  addressed  two  roughly 
clad  men,  who  nodded  soberly  to  him. 

"Hold  there!"  he  called,  merrily.  "Now  that 
the  gay  landing  is  over,  can  you  direct  me  to 
Antoine  d'Artin's  residence?"  The  boy  retreated 
a  step  from  the  men  as  he  spoke,  and  thrust 
his  hands  in  his  breeches-pockets  with  a  careless 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

air.  "I  would  hunt  him  up.  Three  times  this 
merry  day  I  have  tried  to  find  him  to  hold  speech 
with  him,  but  never  a  word.  All  this  New  World 
has  gone  mad.  Verily,  maidens  must  be  a  rich 
cargo,  indeed,  when  men  so  lose  their  minds  as  to 
run  and  halloo  like  lunatics  over  them.  Tell  me, 
good  fellows,  where  lives  Antoine  d'Artin?" 

"To  be  sure,  well  tell  you,"  cried  the  taller  of 
the  men.  "But  first  you  owe  us  a  toast,  and  a 
right  good  one  on  such  a  day.  We'll  take  you  to 
Dan  ton's  and  drink  your  health;  then  away 
with  you  to  d'Artin's  house.  All  New  Orleans  is 
gay  to-day,  and  most  of  the  lads  love-larking." 

"Pardon  me,  my  men,"  said  the  boy,  troubled. 
"  It  is  my  pleasure  to  see  Antoine  d'Artin  at  once." 

"Hear  the  infant!"  cried  one  of  the  men,  press- 
ing nearer.  "Perchance  you  think  to  give  us 
the  slip." 

A  sudden  haughty  resentment  shone  in  the 
proud  stripling's  eyes,  and  he  turned  towards 
them  in  anger.  Another  rough  -  looking  fellow 
drew  near,  bold-eyed  and  smiling.  He  gazed  at 
the  boy  for  a  moment  with  wondering  eyes. 

"  He's  possessed  of  a  devil!"  he  cried,  suddenly. 
"Only  women  and  devils  have  green  eyes.  See, 
comrades,  there's  a  dimple  in  his  chin,  too.  By 
our  holy  Lady !  he's  a  darling  that  can  win  every 
casket  girl  in  the  bunch.  Here,  lad,  to  Danton*s 
you  must  surely  go.  Doubtless  one  who  sails  in 
such  soft  company  has  his  pockets  full  of  silver." 

42 


"JEANNE    POCHE— AT   YOUR    SERVICE" 

Then,  with  good-natured  raillery,  they  hurried 
the  unwilling  youth  forward  through  the  Place 
d'Armes,  across  the  rue  St.  Anne,  hurrjdng  and 
jostling  him  in  heedless  speed  out  beyond  the  rue 
d'Orleans,  through  the  almost  deserted  street, 
with  its  low  buildings  on  both  sides. 

"What  says  the  king?  How  goes  it  with  old 
Fleury,  the  featherbrain,  whose  days  are  spent 
in  planning  for  his  superiors,  and  his  nights  in 
dreaming  of  twinkling  feet  and  flying  skirts?" 
asked  one  of  the  men. 

"Ay,  lad,"  questioned  another.  "What  of 
the  king's  wife?  Does  she  say  her  prayers  as 
often  now?" 

The  moon,  hanging  far  down  in  the  southern 
sky,  sent  one  broad  shaft  of  light  straight  into 
the  path  beyond  them,  to  lose  itself  in  the  shadow 
of  a  dim,  dark  building  at  the  corner  of  the  street 
ahead.  The  sky  was  tranquil  and  jewelled  with 
stars.  Piles  of  silvery  clouds  lay  about  the  moon 
like  a  misty  fringe.  Far  away  to  the  west  the 
great  forests  loomed  in  unbroken  lines  of  black- 
ness. On  a  little  gallery  beside  the  road  a  group 
of  bold  women  bandied  ribald  jests,  laughing 
noisily ;  their  light  dresses  were  luminous  in  the 
bright  light,  and  their  scandalous  stories  floated 
after  the  boy  and  his  pursuers.  At  another  place 
some  girls — half-breeds,  a  mixture  of  Choctaw 
and  African — giggled  after  them,  and  called  to 
them  to  stop. 

43 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

The  boy  rushed  by,  flushed,  unhappy,  and  in- 
dignant, with  defiance  in  his  eyes. 

"How  about  the  court,  cherie?"  asked  one  of 
the  men,  laughing  coarsely.  "Do  they  have 
such  beauties  there?" 

"I  know  nothing  of  kings  or  courts,"  he  said, 
breathlessly.  "Pray,  let  me  go,  good  fellows. 
I  have  a  message  for  Antoine  d'Artin.  Please 
let  me  go." 

He  stood  a  moment  beside  a  clump  of  pal- 
mettoes.  He  could  hear  the  shouting  voices  of 
the  crowd,  as  the  mob  disappeared  in  the  dis- 
tance. His  voice  trembled. 

"Away,  men — away,  and  leave  me  in  peace." 

"A  drink,  a  drink!"  cried  the  three  ruffians. 
"  One  glass  first,  and  the  score  to  you ;  then  we'll 
take  you  back  to  d' Artin's.  Lord !  you  are  many 
a  step  from  his  house  now.  Why,  it  was  back 
there  near  the  river,  where  you  stopped  us." 

They  hurried  him  along  across  a  few  squalid 
squares,  passing  scattered  cabins  and  reedy 
sloughs  and  ponds  alive  with  swarming  reptiles 
and  choked  with  bristling  palmetto  growths, 
until,  finally,  they  came  to  a  low  palisade  build- 
ing, with  upright  joists  and  a  dark,  sloping  roof. 
A  motley  group  of  men,  the  roughest  element  of 
the  young  city,  who  worked  hard  and  drank  hard, 
hung  around  the  outside;  and  through  the  open 
doorway  another  set  could  be  seen  about  a  gaming- 
table, though  at  that  time  gambling  was  supposed 

44 


"JEANNE    POCHE— AT   YOUR    SERVICE" 

to  be  forbidden.  The  air  was  warm,  in  spite  of 
the  winter  season,  and  the  strong  smell  of  wine 
and  the  click  of  flagons  came  from  the  cabin. 

"No,  no,  I  will  not!"  cried  the  lad,  at  last,  in 
sheer  desperation.  "I  cannot  go  in  there." 

He  resisted  their  efforts  to  drag  him  into  the 
cabin,  and  his  breath  came  hurriedly  through  his 
parted,  scarlet  lips. 

"Not  good  enough  for  the  king's  brat!"  cried 
the  tall  man.  "By  our  Lady!  you'll  see  who 
are  your  masters." 

"No  man  is  my  master  but  the  king,"  cried 
the  boy,  panting,  and  quick  as  a  flash  he  drew 
his  sword  and  stood  on  the  defensive. 

"Who  cares  for  the  king?"  cried  all  three. 
"This  is  a  free  land.  Who  fights  best  is  best. 
Say  your  prayers,  boy.  You'll  be  only  a  sword- 
thrust  for  one  of  us.  On  to  the  wine.  Drink, 
and  be  merry  with  us,  or,  by  our  Lady!  you'll 
turn  a  cold  face  up  to  yonder  white  moon  to- 
night!" 

In  spite  of  his  brave  showing,  the  boy  shrank 
from  their  touch,  his  cheeks  aflame  and  his  eyes 
ablaze  with  anger. 

"Cowards!  dogs!"  he  cried,  "let  me  go!" 

Then,  quick  as  a  flash,  he  darted  past  them, 
back  from  the  river,  across  the  moonlit  stretches 
of  thatched  cabins  and  isolated  willow-brakes,  to 
a  clump  of  live-oaks.  A  hush  of  consternation 
followed  his  flight,  but  only  for  an  instant,  and 

45 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

then  the  men  ran  pell-mell  after  him.  The  bra- 
vado with  which  he  spoke  and  the  insolence  of 
his  glance  angered  them.  When  the  youth  found 
he  was  cornered,  he  turned  about  and  faced  his 
foes,  quickly  throwing  off  his  doublet  and  falling 
into  position,  sword  in  hand.  Then,  with  a  loud 
cry,  one  of  the  brawlers  sprang  to  meet  him.  The 
fellow  was  twice  the  size  of  the  lad,  but  ungainly 
and  untrained,  while  the  boy  had  evidently  been 
schooled  in  sword  practice.  His  hand,  small 
and  white  as  a  woman's,  grasped  the  handle  of 
his  blade  with  firmness,  and,  being  much  the 
lighter  weight,  he  easily  dodged  his  opponent's 
blows.  The  other  two  men  stood  by  laughing, 
jestingly  encouraging  their  friend  to  fight  it  out. 

"  Give  it  to  the  young  devil !"  cried  one. 

"Keep  up  the  play,"  urged  the  other.  "He's 
a  pretty  child,  and  makes  a  gallant  fight." 

"Take  him  on  the  right,"  suggested  the  first 
speaker. 

With  an  agile  bound,  before  his  opponent  had 
time  to  be  on  his  guard,  the  boy  sprang  forward, 
dealing  him  a  swift  blow  in  the  ribs.  It  was  a 
mere  pin-prick,  but  it  so  angered  the  big  fellow 
that  he  made  a  violent  lunge,  and  tripped  the 
boy.  He  fell  headlong,  his  sword  clattering  to  the 
ground.  His  lithe  body  lay  motionless. 

"We've  killed  him!"  said  the  big  man,  in  a 
scared  whisper. 

There  was  a  sound  of  crackling  leaves  and 
46 


"JEANNE    POCHE— AT    YOUR    SERVICE" 

grasses,    and    suddenly    a    commanding    voice 
startled  them. 

From  out  the  shadows  Laville  and  his  dog 
plunged  into  the  moonlight,  where  the  boy  lay 
face  downward.  He  stood  a  second,  and  gazed 
wrathf  ully  at  the  rascals,  while  the  dog,  growling, 
nosed  threateningly  at  the  big  man's  feet.  "  Mor- 
bleu!"  he  cried,  as  his  eyes  fell  on  the  tallest 
man.  "  Are  you  at  such  cowardly  work  as  fight- 
ing women  and  children?"  He  directed  his  flash- 
ing eyes  to  the  inert  figure  of  the  lad.  "  He  is  a 
noble  soldier  who  fights  his  country's  foes,  but  it 
is  a  dastard's  work  to  war  on  women  and  chil- 
dren." 

The  dog  showed  his  teeth  with  a  snarl. 

The  fellow  blinked  in  the  white  moonlight,  sa- 
luting Laville,  but  keeping  his  eyes  on  Jupiter. 
'The  boy  is  yours,  captain,"  said  he.  "It  was 
only  a  trick  to  get  him  to  drink.  Here,  men,"  he 
called  to  his  companions,  "let's  go.  Please,  cap- 
tain, keep  the  brute  off." 

The  three  men  saluted  Laville  gravely,  then 
turned  and  skulked  away  among  the  shadows. 

Laville  stooped  and  turned  the  inert  body  over. 
Where  had  he  seen  that  face?  He  bent  over  the 
limp  form  critically. 

"A  mere  lad,"  he  said  under  his  breath.  "A 
pretty  morsel  for  those  fierce  falcons." 

He  gazed  in  admiration  on  the  boy's  broad, 
white  brow,  with  its  clustering  curls,  and  the 

47 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

supple  beauty  of  chin  and  throat.  The  dog 
licked  one  of  the  inert  hands. 

"  Pardieu !  Jupiter  !  What  times  these  are 
when  even  infants  and  women  are  not  safe!"  He 
sighed  softly.  "But  we  have  no  time  for  senti- 
ment, old  Jupiter.  We  must  see  what  can  be 
done  for  the  boy." 

He  pillowed  the  prostrate  form  against  the 
background  of  dried  brush,  and,  without  a  mo- 
ment's delay,  jerked  the  thin  muslin  shirt  open 
at  the  throat,  with  a  fierceness  that  rudely  tore 
the  fastenings  apart  and  threw  a  small  bundle 
of  papers  to  the  ground. 

"  Sang  Dieu!  it  is  a  woman !"  he  cried,  in  alarm. 

His  brow  contracted.  There  could  be  no  mis- 
take; it  was  a  woman. 

The  pitiless  moonlight,  shining  full  upon  them, 
showed  the  soft  curves  and  white  outlines  of  a 
woman's  beautifully  rounded  bosom.  The  pe- 
culiar grace  of  her  limbs  was  very  striking  in  re- 
pose, and  oppressed  Laville.  He  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  paused  a  moment  in  dismayed  silence.  Then, 
quickly  stooping  again,  he  drew  her  disordered 
garments  into  place,  and  raised  the  woman  in  his 
arms.  The  hasty  movement  disarranged  her 
wig,  and  her  hair,  escaping  its  bonds,  fell  over  her 
shoulders  in  wondrous  waves.  Laville  was  a 
man  of  quick  thought,  yet  for  a  brief  space  he  de- 
liberated, undecided  how  to  act.  He  was  saved 
further  doubt,  however,  as  the  woman  began  to 

48 


"JEANNE    POCHE— AT    YOUR    SERVICE" 

stir.  A  slight  shudder  passed  through  her  frame; 
slowly  she  drifted  back  to  life  and  opened  her 
eyes.  She  gazed  wonderingly  at  Laville,  a  dull 
questioning  in  her  eyes.  She  lightly  drew  her- 
self from  his  strong,  encircling  arms,  and  stood 
alone.  A  troubled  shadow  crept  over  the  brill- 
iancy of  her  face,  and  she  turned  pale  again,  while 
a  slow  trembling  seized  her  as  she  marked  the 
quick  glance  of  inspection  from  his  penetrating 
eyes.  All  at  once  she  thought  of  the  letters  she 
had  concealed  in  her  bosom,  and  with  a  frantic 
gesture  she  clasped  her  hands  over  the  place  where 
they  had  been. 

"Ah!"  she  said,  in  weak  confusion.  "I — I 
have  lost  something — I  had  some  papers.  Oh, 
monsieur,  please  help  me  to  find  them — they  are 
valuable." 

She  turned  paler  as  she  spoke.  Laville  could 
see  that  she  was  laboring  under  deep  distress. 
He  looked  about  him  on  the  ground,  and  at  last 
discovered  a  small  packet  of  papers  lying  close 
beside  her. 

She  bent  her  brows  and  raised  her  eyes  once 
more  to  the  tall  young  man. 

"  I  thank  you.     I — I  am  sorry  to  have  troubled 

you." 

Laville  gazed  down  at  her,  and  she  could  not 
but  notice  the  winning  smile  that  brightened  his 
face. 

"I  am — alone." 
D  49 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

She  was  weak,  and  rested  one  arm  against  the 
trunk  of  the  tree,  her  small  brown  head,  with  its 
mass  of  rumpled  hair,  against  it. 

"I  appeal  to  your  generosity  —  your  honor. 
Take  me  to  my  friends!" 

"I  am  a  gentleman,  mademoiselle.  You  need 
have  no  fear.  Here  are  your  letters." 

He  spoke  with  unconscious  kindness.  Her 
helplessness  appealed  to  him,  and  his  bold  eyes 
gazed  softly  into  hers. 

She  bowed  slightly,  smiling  reluctantly,  and 
extended  her  hand  for  the  packet.  There  was  a 
momentary  silence,  in  which  she  mechanically 
noted  his  fine  carriage  and  handsome  uniform, 
while  trying  to  regain  herself.  The  moon  shone 
clear  and  white  through  the  trees,  and  fell  upon 
her  uncovered  head.  Again  it  occurred  to  La- 
ville  that  he  had  seen  her  before,  but  where? 

Suddenly  she  looked  up  without  changing  her 
attitude;  her  voice  was  calm  and  unfaltering. 

"I  am  Madame  Poche." 

Laville  gave  an  involuntary  start.  Madame 
raised  her  head,  and  seemed  suddenly  to  glow 
with  a  wonderful  life. 

"I  came  on  the  ship  to-day." 

In  an  instant  Laville  remembered  Rossart  and 
the  portrait.  And  this  was  Madame  Poche.  His 
eyes  met  hers  again  with  a  warmer  gaze.  She 
dropped  her  head,  and  spoke  with  averted  eyes. 

"  I  wear  this  garb  for  my  protection— times  are 
50 


"JEANNE    POCHE— AT   YOUR    SERVICE" 

rude  in  this  new  land.  There  are  those  who 
would  not  respect  a  woman  situated  as  I  am.  Will 
you  take  me  to  Monsieur  Antoine  d'Artin?  He 
is  my  cousin." 

The  look  of  recognition  in  Laville's  eyes  deep- 
ened. 

"I  am  Laville — Captain  Laville,  in  the  gov- 
ernor's service/'  he  said.  "I  have  heard  of  you, 
Madame  Poche,  even  in  this  remote  province; 
and  this  is  my  dog  Jupiter — a  good  brute,  and 
yours  to  command,"  he  laughed. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  under  her  breath.  "  But,  in  God's 
name,  let  us  go  hence!" 

The  streak  of  moonlight  lengthened  through 
the  fretwork  of  leaves  overhead.  It  was  intensely 
still.  Her  eyes  glanced  about  like  the  gaze  of  a 
hunted  creature. 

"I  have  your  promise,  monsieur.  You  are  a 
gentleman.  Conduct  me  to  my  friends." 

She  spoke  in  a  low,  thrilling  voice,  rich  with 
emotion,  glancing  towards  the  settlement,  where 
occasional  lights  flashed  in  the  darkness. 

Laville  bowed  with  courteous  grace.  A  faint 
glow  warmed  his  cheeks,  and  his  manner  grew 
brighter.  He  extended  his  hand  to  lead  her 
through  the  underbrush.  She  paused  for  an 
anxious  instant,  and  swept  her  eyes  over  the 
stately  form  of  the  man  before  her  with  a  strange 
questioning.  Then  she  said,  in  a  low  voice: 

"  I  pray  you  lead  the  way,  and  I  will  follow  you. " 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

It  was  evident  to  Laville  that  the  young  wom- 
an was  painfully  conscious  of  her  masculine  at- 
tire, and,  though  amused,  he  dropped  his  out- 
stretched hand  and  resisted  his  inclination  to 
laugh.  With  a  faint  smile  playing  on  his  strong 
features,  he  whistled  to  Jupiter  and  started  ahead. 
Jeanne's  clear  eyes  searched  the  whole  landscape. 
The  path  over  which  Laville  led  her  was  through 
a  small  grove  of  magnificent  live-oaks.  Stray 
moonbeams  peeped  through  the  foliage  overhead, 
but  otherwise  the  way  for  a  short  distance  was 
solemnly  monotonous.  Beneath  their  feet  lay  a 
carpet  of  coarse  grass,  and  weird  festoons  of 
Spanish  moss  hung  from  the  trees. 

Jeanne  trudged  with  difficulty  after  Laville. 
She  was  unused  to  rough  walking,  and  once  in  a 
while  stumbled  and  would  have  fallen  had  he  not 
turned  in  time  to  catch  her.  The  scream  of  a 
panther  came  ominously  from  the  woods.  She 
shuddered. 

"You  had  better  let  me  assist  you,"  he  said, 
gently. 

The  soft  woodland  sounds  of  the  night  were 
the  only  answer  for  a  moment.  Then  she  stretched 
out  her  hand  gropingly  and  rested  her  slender 
fingers  in  his  with  a  silent  gesture  of  acknowl- 
edgment, feeling  a  vague  sense  of  unreality. 

"  There  is  no  help  for  it,"  he  said,  a  trifle  curtly. 
"You  will  be  obliged  to  accept  my  assistance. 
Come—" 

52 


"JEANNE    POCHE—  AT    YOUR    SERVICE" 

At  that  moment  he  felt  a  sudden  rush  of  tender- 
ness towards  this  strange  woman,  but  his  last 
word  had  a  tone  of  authority  in  it,  which  angered 
Jeanne.  She  instantly  snatched  her  hand  from 
his,  impatient  and  proud. 

"  You  are  neither  addressing  your  servant  nor 
your  dog,  monsieur,"  she  cried,  reprovingly. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  I  did  not  realize 
my  peremptory  tone,"  said  Laville,  apologeti- 
cally. "You  see,  madame,  we  of  this  country 
are  not  often  used  to  the  company  of  ladies.  I 
regret  to  have  occasioned  you  alarm." 

There  was  a  mild  reproach  in  his  voice,  but 
the  next  instant  her  warm,  magnetic  hand  slid 
back  into  his  firm  grasp,  and  they  were  moving 
along  side  by  side  again.  Vague,  half-stormy 
thoughts  swept  over  Jeanne. 

"I  am  not  entirely  without  shame,  nor  am  I 
ungrateful,"  she  broke  out  suddenly,  her  frank 
and  candid  nature  asserting  itself.  "To  you  I 
am  the  veriest  stranger,  but  yours  is  the  hand 
that  saved  me  from  those  wretches.  To  you  I 
am  thankful.  But  what  must  you  think  of  me 
— a  woman — a  wife,  yet  disguised  as  a  madcap 
boy?" 

Laville  uttered  an  exclamation  of  dissent. 

"These  are  rough  times,"  he  said,  "and  we 
cannot  always  see  a  reason  in  everything,  yet 
even  a  woman  may  find  masquerading  to  her 
purpose,  and  the  doublet  and  hose  more  secure 

53 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

than  her  petticoats.  I  never  question  motives 
in  others,  madame,  reserving  to  myself  the  same 
privilege." 

They  left  the  woods  behind,  and  went  on 
through  the  rue  St.  Anne.  They  turned  into  the 
rue  Royale,  and  thence  on  to  the  street  facing  the 
levee,  where  the  houses  stood  far  apart  with  their 
large  gardens.  Standing  near  the  end  of  the 
square,  shadowed  by  more  magnolias  and  live- 
oaks,  and  a  trifle  more  pretentious  than  the 
other  houses,  was  a  broad  dwelling.  It  was  a 
two -story  building,  with  a  flat  roof,  used  as  a 
gallery  or  belvedere.  There  were  great  bulg- 
ing chimneys  at  each  end,  and  a  door  in  the 
middle  of  each  floor  opening  out  on  to  wide 
galleries.  There  were  many  windows,  the  frames 
closed  in  with  thin  linen  instead  of  glass,  and 
through  the  transparent  whiteness  lights  shone 
feebly,  and  stretched  down  across  the  path  to  the 
roadway.  Long  rows  of  rose-bushes,  lately  im- 
ported from  France,  but  nourished  into  quick  ma- 
turity by  the  tropical  soil,  grew  on  each  side  of  the 
walk,  and  threw  grotesque  shadows  over  the  path. 
Even  the  bare  walls,  the  rude  pillars  of  the  over- 
hanging gallery,  and  the  expansive  garden  were 
dreamy  and  etherealized  in  the  moonlight. 

It  seemed  unreal  and  phantom-like  to  Jeanne, 
and  called  up  singular  hallucinations  to  her  mind 
in  this  wilderness  of  a  world.  Laville  suddenly 
came  to  a  standstill. 

54 


"JEANNE    POCHE— AT   YOUR    SERVICE" 

"  This  is  the  cT Artin  residence.  It  is  one  of  our 
show  places/'  he  added  with  a  smile.  "There 
are  few  others  in  the  colony  half  so  fine." 

He  opened  the  wicket,  and  they  passed  in  be- 
tween the  nodding  wall  of  rose-bushes. 

"I  have  only  to  leave  you  with  your  friends, 
and  thank  fortune  for  allowing  me  to  be  of  service 
to  you,  madame." 

"And  I  to  thank  a  gallant  gentleman  for  his 
protection,"  she  returned,  softly  turning  her  long- 
fringed  gray  eyes  full  upon  him  and  smiling. 

"The  favor  is  on  my  side,  I  assure  you,  ma- 
dame.  It  is  an  honor,  and,  though  I  have  no 
right,  I  cannot  leave  until  I  know  that  we  shall 
meet  again." 

As  she  toyed  with  the  tendril  of  a  rose-vine 
which  grew  in  the  shadows,  their  eyes  suddenly 
met.  There  was  something  in  that  quick  glance, 
some  mysterious  affinity,  which  made  them  friends 
at  once.  Laville  had  many  odd  characteristics, 
and  his  theories  in  regard  to  women  were  consid- 
ered eccentric,  though  chivalrous.  Carelessly  in- 
different to  many,  and  not  famed  for  his  dis- 
cretion, he  was  of  a  nature  that,  when  moved,  gave 
unmeasurably  and  without  calculation.  He  was 
deeply  interested  in  Jeanne  and  aroused  by  the 
helplessness  of  her  position.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  Poche  must  be  a  poor  sort  of  a  man  to  let  this 
young,  graceful  woman,  who  wras  his  wife,  face 
the  dangers  of  that  wild  land  alone. 

55 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"Have  I  your  permission  to  call,  madame?  I 
should  like  to  know  how  you  survive  your  ad- 
venture/' 

He  felt  conscious  and  awkward  as  a  boy. 

She  looked  away  from  him  in  the  moonlight, 
and  then  instantly  turned  her  eyes  to  his  with  a 
frank  gaze,  and  quietly  said  she  would  be  pleased 
to  see  him  again. 

"My  cousins,  no  doubt,  know  you  well/'  she 
added,  a  trifle  coldly. 

Laville's  pride  was  stung;  it  seemed  to  him 
that  she  was  trying  to  repulse  him. 

"I  will  not  force  my  presence  upon  you,  ma- 
dame." 

She  smiled  brightly  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Nay,  I  did  not  mean  that.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
have  you  come.  Have  you  not  made  me  your 
debtor  for  life?" 

"Think  of  it  in  that  way,  if  you  will,"  he  said. 
"  But  it  is  nothing.  I  am  known  to  your  cousins, 
though  I  cannot  say  just  how  favorably.  We  in 
Louisiana  are  somewhat  divided  for  and  against 
our  present  government.  There  are  those  who 
do  not  approve  entirely  of  Julian  Laville.  I  am 
a  reckless  free-lance,  my  lady,  but  my  sword  will 
be  always  at  your  service." 

His  eyes  expressed  an  admiration  which  he 
dare  not  utter.  She  laughed  softly,  and  led  the 
way  up  the  rose-bordered  walk. 

"Well,  every  one  cannot  think  alike  in  all 
56 


"JEANNE    POCHE— AT   YOUR    SERVICE" 

things/'  she  said,  lightly.  "There  are  some  sit- 
uations we  must  define  for  ourselves.  In  France, 
captain,  we  try  to  show  our  favor.  Perchance  in 
Louisiana  there  may  come  a  day  when  Jeanne 
Poche  shall  repay  Captain  Laville  this  good  turn. 
In  the  king's  name,  I  trust  so." 

He  stared  at  her  in  amazement,  trying  to 
see  her  face,  but  it  was  partly  turned  from 
him. 

"In  so  small  a  community  we  take  note  of 
those  who  speak  in  his  Majesty's  name,"  he  said 
quickly,  taking  a  step  towards  her.  "It  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  the  policies  of  a  government 
should  be  of  a  woman's  choosing." 

She  turned  slowly,  courtesied  with  saucy  grace, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  with  haughty  insouciance, 
defiant  though  smiling. 

"It  is  better  sometimes  to  trust  a  woman,  my 
captain." 

Her  eyes  were  dazzling,  and  her  tone  almost 
tender.  She  looked  at  him,  and  he  flushed.  She 
laughed  again  at  his  confusion,  and  ran  quickly 
up  the  few  steps,  he  following  sedately  after.  All 
at  once  she  hesitated  on  the  uppermost  step,  and 
looked  down  on  him  from  her  height  with  her 
long  lashes  partly  veiling  her  eyes.  She  slowly 
reached  up  to  the  rose-vine  climbing  over  her 
head  and  plucked  a  half-open  bud. 

''There,  there,  my  captain!"  tossing  the  flower 
to  him  with  a  coquettish  uplifting  of  her  lashes. 

57 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"Wear  that,  and  think — of  me — Jeanne  Poche — 
at  your  service,  forever  and  ever." 

She  turned  quickly,  and,  with  a  ripple  of  laugh- 
ter that  rang  mockingly  in  Laville's  ears,  van- 
ished into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  V 
A   ROSE 

MADAME  and  Antoine  d'Artin  were  sitting 
at  supper  when  Jeanne  rushed  in  upon 
them.  She  stood  at  the  threshold  with  flaming 
cheeks  and  brilliant  eyes.  She  laughed  merrily, 
and  greeted  them  with  gay  grace. 

"Jeanne  Poche,  as  I  live!"  cried  Madame 
d'Artin,  rising  precipitately  from  her  chair. 
"What  does  this  mean?"  Her  large  eyes  were 
filled  with  glad  surprise. 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  know  whether  this  is  Jeanne 
or  not/'  said  d'Artin,  in  his  soft,  drawling  voice, 
and  instantly  started  a  race  with  his  wife  to 
reach  Jeanne  first.  Madame  was  victorious,  and 
clasped  Jeanne  in  her  arms. 

"  Mon  Dieu!  and  is  this  the  way  you  came 
from  France — you,  the  belle,  the  gay  coquette?" 

All  the  best  thoughts  of  d'Artin's  life  were  sud- 
denly illumined  by  the  presence  of  this  young 
creature  whose  happy  companionship  in  the  past 
had  stirred  all  the  harmonies  of  his  naiure.  He 
kissed  her  first  on  one  cheek  and  then  on  the  other, 

59 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

and  held  her  at  arm's-length,  laughing  the  while 
in  hearty  enjoyment. 

"I  vow,"  he  said,  between  bursts  of  merriment, 
"  if  I  did  not  know  your  face  well  I  should  think 
you  some  dare-devil  boy.  But,  Jeanne,  how 
could  you  play  such  a  caper?" 

He  paused.  The  singularity  of  her  masquer- 
ade seemed  to  impress  him  seriously  rather  than 
grotesquely. 

Jeanne's  rapid  glance  played  like  lightning 
over  the  dark,  handsome  face,  and  she  spoke 
with  a  nervous  energy. 

"How  could  I  help  it?"  she  said,  hotly,  with 
uncompromising  directness.  "It  seemed  to  my 
husband  to  be  the  only  safe  way,  and  he  ar- 
ranged the  dress  himself.  There  had  to  be  a 
masculine  guard  to  the  girls  on  the  ship  and  I 
was  one  of  the  number.  Am  I  not  a  worthy  one? 
and  do  I  look  like  a  boy?" 

She  advanced  towards  him,  then  back  again 
and  turned  herself  around.  She  was  like  a  bird, 
graceful,  alert,  and  defiant. 

D' Artin  looked  at  her  with  fixed  regard. 

"And  where  is  your  husband  all  this  while, 
and  how  does  it  happen  that  you  are  so  late?  The 
ship  was  in  hours  ago.  Really,  Jeanne,  some 
of  your  pranks  are  most  imprudent.  I  shudder 
when  I  think  of  the  chances  you  run." 

Jeanne  took  off  her  hat  and  tossed  it  on  a  chair, 
a  suggestion  of  teeming  life  in  every  motion. 

60 


A    ROSE 

Then  she  went  up  to  d'Artin  and  raised  her  face 
to  his  all  aglow  with  delight. 

"There,  there,  good  Cousin  Antoine!  Don't 
scold  any  more." 

She  patted  his  hands,  and  bent  over  so  that  the 
little  fluffy  rings  of  her  hair  touched  the  black 
locks  on  his  temples. 

"  Do  stop  talking,  cherie,  and  go  outside.  You 
will  find  a  gentleman  who  has  been  kind  to  me, 
who  brought  me  here  in  safety.  But  don't  let 
him  come  in  here." 

"No,  Antoine;  take  him  into  the  drawing- 
room,"  suggested  Madame  d'Artin,  with  an  as- 
sumption of  dignity. 

"Drawing-room?"  repeated  Jeanne,  laughing. 
"Do  you  have  drawing-rooms  here  in  the  wilder- 
ness?" 

Madame  d'Artin  frowned  and  seemed  annoyed. 

"We  try  to  live  like  civilized  people,"  she  said, 
stiffly. 

"Forgive  me,  Luce,"  said  Jeanne.  "I  was 
only  trying  to  tease  you." 

"But  what  man  are  you  talking  about, 
Jeanne?"  asked  d'Artin.  "Explain  yourself." 

"A  gentleman  who  brought  me  here,"  said 
Jeanne,  quickly.  "Do  go  to  him,  Cousin  An- 
toine. He  will  think  I  know  nothing  of  good 
manners.  But  be  sure,  you  don't  let  him  come  in 
here.  Take  him  to  the  drawing-room."  She  em- 
phasized the  words  with  a  gesture  full  of  meaning. 

61 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"  While  you  are  there — in  the  drawing-room — I 
will  be  confidential  with  Luce,  and  tell  her  all 
about  myself.  Come,  cherie,"  to  the  tall,  hand- 
some woman  who  stood  regarding  her  with  large, 
brown  eyes.  "I  am  absolutely  starved." 

D'Artin  gave  an  involuntary  glance  at  the 
table,  his  spirits  leaping  into  action  under  the 
young  woman's  bright  manner. 

"You  will  have  to  adapt  yourself  to  stern  fare 
here,  little  cousin.  Sagamite  is  our  chief  diet." 

Jeanne's  eyes  flashed,  as  d'Artin  remembered 
they  used  to  do  in  those  far-away  days  of  their 
childhood. 

"  Ah,  what  does  it  matter  now  that  I  am  real- 
ly here,  Antoine?  Antoine!  dear  comrade  of  my 
youth,  I  have  been  miserable  and  lonely  without 
you!  Do  you  remember  back  there  in  France, 
dear,  how  we  used  to  sing  in  the  garden  at  home, 

"Oh,  my  dearest, 
Oh,  my  fairest — " 

She  hummed  the  refrain,  and  then  stopped 
abruptly  and  laughed. 

"  How  gay  we  were  then !  but  that  was  a  happy 
time — a  happy  time." 

There  was  a  vibrant,  appealing  note  in  Jeanne's 
voice  that  touched  d'Artin.  She  had  the  same 
careless  manner  which  always  won  him.  His 
eyes  grew  slightly  moist;  he  felt  himself  sud- 
denly dominated  by  the  power  of  her  gentle  mood, 

62 


A    ROSE 

and  his  heart-strings  throbbed  with  memories  of 
their  old  home. 

"Yes,  that  was  a  happy  time,  Jeanne/'  he  said, 
simply.  "And  your  coming  will  surely  make 
us  happier  here." 

Then  he  went  out,  and  Jeanne  seated  herself 
beside  madame  at  the  table,  with  a  little  murmur 
of  content. 

Placidity  and  good-nature  were  expressed  in 
Madame  d'Artin's  every  movement.  No  one 
had  ever  seen  her  angry,  and  her  estimable  qual- 
ities were  as  respected  in  New  Orleans  as  they 
had  been  in  Versailles.  She  was  built  on  mas- 
sive lines,  handsome,  strong,  and  complacent, 
with  a  smooth,  imperturbable  countenance,  and 
wondering  dark  eyes.  She  always  said  the  most 
quieting  things  in  the  proper  place,  and  now  she 
acted  as  a  sedative  on  Jeanne's  more  impetuous 
nature.  She  leaned  both  plump  elbows  passively 
on  the  table,  and  took  a  long  survey  of  her  kins- 
woman. The  dining-room,  big,  whitewashed, 
and  slimly  furnished,  was  very  quiet.  An  old 
negress  in  bare  feet  padded  about,  waiting  on 
Jeanne.  A  cluster  of  candles  stood  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  round  table.  Their  low  lights  caught 
the  gleam  of  fine  silver,  and  assured  Jeanne  that 
her  kinswoman  was  as  prodigal  as  when  in 
France.  The  napery  was  white  and  luminous, 
the  quaint  pattern  of  the  table-cloth  charming. 

All  in  a  breath,  Jeanne  related  the  details  of 
63 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

her  voyage.  Madame's  heart  sank.  It  was 
as  she  surmised.  Poche  and  his  wife  were  es- 
tranged. But  no,  he  was  coming  later.  Then 
Jeanne  spoke  of  her  landing,  and  subsequent 
meeting  with  Laville.  Ah!  what  a  cavalier  he 
was!  so  distinguished,  with  his  great  height,  his 
fine  carriage,  and  so  modest!  Oh,  she  must 
know  him  better — they  would  be  great  compan- 
ions. There  was  a  passionate  force  in  her  nat- 
ure which  seemed  to  delight  in  the  frank,  open 
flow  of  speech. 

At  the  mention  of  Laville's  name,  madame 
was  moved  to  mild  retrospection.  She  remem- 
bered certain  stories  she  had  heard — madame 
always  heard  a  great  deal  of  gossip — lightly, 
yet  not  unkindly  commenting  on  his  indiscre- 
tions, though  acknowledging  that  he  was  more 
to  be  trusted  than  many  better  men. 

"He  has  a  way  of  making  love  to  every  at- 
tractive woman  in  New  Orleans,"  she  rambled  on, 
irresponsibly.  "And  they  do  say  that  when  he 
was  in  France  he  was  the  scandal  of  the  hour. 
But,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Jeanne,  most  women 
here  help  him  on.  They  all  have  a  fine  way  of 
displaying  their  beauty,  but,  alas!  they  care  so 
little  for  their  souls,  and  are  easy  victims  to  such 
men  as  Captain  Laville." 

Jeanne's  heart  sank. 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  Captain  Laville  is  what 
you  say,  cousin,"  she  said,  gazing  musingly 

64 


A     ROSE 

into  the  candle-light.  "  He  seems  such  a  strong 
man,  one  who  lives  for  honor  and  self-respect. 
Truly,  Cousin  Luce,  I  am  delighted  with  your 
captain.  You  know,  when  it  becomes  noised 
about  that  a  man  does  all  sorts  of  dreadful  things, 
there  are  innumerable  infidelities  laid  at  his  door 
as  untrue  as  they  are  undeserved.  Remember,  I 
shall  champion  Captain  Laville  hereafter.  You 
forget  I  owe  him  a  debt.  He  saved  me  from  those 
ruffians,  and  then — " 

The  soft  candle-light  threw  down  yellow  gleams 
which  glinted  in  her  brilliant  eyes,  as  she  added, 
lightly: 

"  He  really  has  quite  the  fine  air  of  a  gentleman. " 

"  He  did  no  more  for  you  than  any  other  gentle- 
man would  have  done  under  the  circumstances," 
replied  Madame  d'Artin,  hotly.  "  Captain  Laville 
is  a  gallant  soldier,  and,  in  such  matters,  a  man 
to  be  trusted." 

"Well,  then — "  Jeanne  hesitated,  smiling  gay- 
ly— "  I  like  him." 

•"  Jeanne,  Jeanne !  reckless  as  ever.  Ah,  child, 
you  were  ever  a  mad-cap,  and  marriage  has  not 
tamed  you." 

Jeanne  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed. 

"Reckless,  dear  Cousin  Luce?  Why,  at  court 
I  am  noted  as  a  prude." 

Again  she  laughed — a  free,  irresistible  laugh- 
ter which  penetrated  to  the  gallery  where  d'Artin 
and  Laville  sat. 

E  65 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"Well,  when  you  have  done  laughing  at  me/' 
said  madame,  stiffly,  "  I  will  talk  to  you,  Jeanne." 

She  pushed  her  chair  from  the  table,  and  leaned 
comfortably  back.  The  color  leaped  in  Jeanne's 
face. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  contritely,  "but  you 
know,"  pensively,  "I  am  seldom  interested  in 
any  man.  Few  of  them  understand  me." 

The  green-gray  eyes  looked  sad.  In  her  own 
mind,  Jeanne  was  conscious  of  a  dim  longing 
that  this  man  should  think  well  of  her. 

"It  is  your  own  fault,  Jeanne.  You  rarely 
talk  of  yourself.  Even  we,  your  relatives,  know 
so  little  of  what  you  think.  One  must  surely  tell 
of  their  own  deeds  to  make  them  respected." 

"I  am  not  an  enthusiast  over  myself,"  said 
Jeanne,  gravely.  "Do  you  remember,  Luce, 
away  back  yonder,  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  how 
I  used  to  think  I  was  destined  to  be  something 
great  one  day?  I  have  a  restless  nature;  there 
is  something  about  me  that  keeps  me  always 
wishing  for  some  one  to  understand  me — some 
one  I  could  lay  bare  my  soul  to — but  that  never 
comes  to  any  of  us,  does  it,  Luce — dear,  contented 
Luce?" 

She  looked  up,  with  pleading  eyes  and  parted 
lips,  then  suddenly  leaned  over  and  kissed  ma- 
dame  on  her  smooth  white  brow. 

"That  would  be  paradise,  wouldn't  it?"  She 
moved  restlessly. 

66 


A    ROSE 

Madame  frowned,  then  smiled  quietly,  as  a 
matron  would  on  a  wayward,  inexperienced  child. 

"You  are  the  same  intractable  creature,"  she 
said,  soberly.  "  I  cannot  understand  it.  Antoine 
says  you  are  poetical,  and  that  he  is  somewhat 
like  you.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  think  you  are;  both 
so  ardent,  so  dreamy,  and  at  times  so  silent;  I 
wish,  for  your  own  happiness,  you  were  dif- 
ferent. Jeanne,  you  will  have  to  learn  from  me. 
Though  you  are  a  married  woman,  you  are  a 
girl  yet  in  years  and  spirit/' 

Jeanne  looked  reflective. 

"I  think  Cousin  Antoine  and  I  have  the  same 
defects  of  character,  and  they  unfit  us  for  much 
in  life.  It  is  the  fate  of  our  race.  We  are  too 
dreamy.  Antoine  has  the  best  of  me  there — he 
is  more  practical,  and  so  thrifty  and  wise,  or  is 
it  your  influence,  dear?" 

Madame  smiled,  well  pleased,  and  answered 
with  a  smile  of  approval. 

"To  be  happy  one  must  be  content.  You  are 
not  that,  Jeanne,  and  my  Antoine  is.  Content- 
ment makes  things  so  easy — much  easier." 

Jeanne  smiled  uneasily  and  looked  steadily 
at  madame. 

"  To  be  content,  one  must  not  know  too  much," 
she  retorted,  bitterly.  "I  am  so  afraid  I  will 
never  be  content,  Luce.  I  am  forever  and  for- 
ever reaching  out  after  something  quite  beyond 
me.  I  want  to  know — to  know — " 

67 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

She  blushed,  and  involuntarily  put  her  hand 
in  madame's. 

Madame  sat  helpless  a  moment.  Her  sym- 
pathies went  out  to  Jeanne,  though  she  assured 
herself  that  the  young  woman  was  unreasonable. 

"Voracious  little  soul!"  she  exclaimed  at 
length,  laughing  heartily.  "But  to  return  to 
Captain  Laville.  You  must  know  that  he  and 
my  husband  are  not  good  friends  now.  I  do 
not  mean  that  they  are  enemies,  but  they  dis- 
agree in  politics,  and  though  Captain  Laville  is 
often  entertained  here,  Antoine  does  not  trust 
him  with  his  confidence." 

Jeanne  looked  up  quickly,  measuring  madame 
with  a  glance. 

"Perfect  friendship  requires  natures  tempered 
to  each  other,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands,  and 
turning  her  luminous  eyes  like  stars  upon  ma- 
dame.  "  One  can  easily  see  that  that  is  not  true 
of  Antoine  and  Captain  Laville." 

"They  do  say,"  continued  madame,  in  a  low- 
er tone,  "  that  the  captain  is  in  some  danger  just 
now.  I  do  not  understand  what  it  is,  but  the 
Blessed  Virgin  help  him!  for  he  is  an  attractive 
man,  and — I  like  him." 

Jeanne  nodded  soberly.  She  was  conscious 
of  a  momentary  prompting  to  find  out  the  facts, 
and  save  Captain  Laville,  if  possible — just  to 
show  him  that  she  remembered.  But  she  re- 
strained herself. 

68 


A    ROSE 

"It  would  be  too  bad/'  said  madame,  after  a 
momentary  pause. 

Jeanne  looked  grave.  "But  come,  Cousin 
Luce,  I  am  tired.  Show  me  a  place  to  sleep,  and 
to-morrow  this  boy  will  be  gone,  and  Madame 
Jeanne  Poche  reign  again.  And,  Luce,  get 
Antoine  to  send  for  my  boxes.  They  are  at  the 
ship.  I  have  some  pretty  things  there — laces 
and  satins — and,  dear  Luce  " — after  a  brief  pause 
before  a  tall  mirror  over  the  mantel — "  ask  Cap- 
tain Laville  to  call  again.  I — I  am  really  ashamed 
to  have  seen  him  in  these  clothes.  You  know  I 
verily  believe  he  and  that  big  dog  of  his  saved  my 
life.  Wait  a  moment,  dear;  I  am  anxious  to  see 
him  again,  just  to  be  sure  that  I  should  recognize 
him  if  we  ever  meet.  He  must  not  see  me,  so  I'll 
go  quietly  and  take  a  peep — there  now — on  tip- 
toe. Hush!  not  a  sound/'  placing  her  finger  to 
her  lips. 

Like  two  shadows  they  glided  noiselessly 
through  the  hall  almost  to  the  door.  "There, 
stop,  dear;  we  can  see  him  quite  plainly.  Yes," 
in  a  low  whisper,  "I  shall  remember  him;  I 
should  know  that  face  among  a  thousand.  Ah, 
Luce!  what  a  firm  mouth — so  unyielding — no, 
no,  I  mistake.  He  has  a  rose  in  his  hand,  dear; 
see,  he  has  lifted  it  to  his  lips ;  it  is  a  red  rose, 
Luce,"  breathlessly.  "  Some  one  may  have  given 
it  to  him — perhaps  a  woman,"  laughing  trem- 
ulously. "He  does  care,  he  does,  he  does.  Oh, 

69 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

come  away,  Luce.  I  don't  want  to  see  any  one. 
I  am  tired,  and  I  wonder — I  wonder  what  Cap- 
tain Laville  was  thinking  of  when  he  kissed  that 
rose?" 

"Nothing  at  all/'  said  madame.  "Probably 
he  forgot  even  that  he  had  the  flower.  Jeanne, 
you  act  like  a  silly,  romantic  girl!" 

Jeanne  laughed  softly. 

"  But,  Luce,  I  wonder  if  that  woman  who  gave 
him  the  rose  knew  exactly  what  she  was  doing? 
Women  do  such  thoughtless  things  without  any 
meaning — even  I — sometimes — and  then,  after  it 
is  over,  I  am — we  are — so  sorry." 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE   TURN   OF   THE   TIDE 

HPHE  very  day  after  Jeanne's  arrival  Rossart 
A  made  a  pretext  to  call  on  d'Artin.  When  he 
called,  however,  he  found  the  entire  family  out. 
D'Artin  and  his  wife  were  at  the  governor's,  and 
Jeanne  was  walking  about  the  town  with  the 
negress  Celie  in  attendance. 

Rossart  retraced  his  steps  down  the  rose-bor- 
dered walk.  The  sun  was  shining  full  upon  the 
garden.  Rossart  raised  his  eyes  to  the  house 
— the  house  that  was  to  shelter  her,  covered  with 
clambering  honeysuckle  and  roses,  and  sugges- 
tive of  memories.  He  looked  out  on  the  record  of 
will  and  perseverance  that  had  dominated  his 
life;  and  he  registered  a  vow  that  this  French- 
woman should  not  thwart  and  scorn  him,  as  she 
had  done  over  there  in  France.  He  passed  through 
the  wicket  with  determined  steps,  his  eyes  follow- 
ing the  course  of  the  levee  for  some  distance. 
With  a  sudden  satisfaction  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  light  skirts  high  up  on  the  levee,  embowered  in 
the  drooping  willows.  The  slender,  graceful  fig- 
ure recalled  a  vivid  memory  of  the  past.  It  was 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

on  such  a  day,  seven  years  before,  that  he  had 
seen  her,  pulsing  with  youth  and  beauty,  in  her 
veins  the  current  of  life  coursing  tumultuous- 
ly,  and  he  would  have  imperilled  his  soul  and 
committed  the  greatest  folly  of  his  life  for  her 
sake.  That  might  happen  once,  but  he  was  sure 
he  could  win  her  this  time,  and  without  the  an- 
tagonism of  his  previous  encounter.  He  laughed 
softly  to  himself  and  followed  the  direction  of  his 
gaze. 

"Dreaming,"  he  said,  under  his  breath.  "Im- 
practicable as  ever,  and  as  cool  as  the  dawn. 
Your  bewitching,  magnetic  women  are  always 
dreamers." 

He  crossed  the  greensward  to  where  Jeanne  was 
seated  upon  the  grass.  Her  dark  silk  draperies 
were  gracefully  disposed  about  her,  and  a  tall 
negress  was  in  the  act  of  placing  a  cape  over 
her  shoulders,  the  heavy  form  of  the  servant  ac- 
centuating the  slender  elegance  of  her  mistress. 
Both  women  were  unconscious  of  his  approach 
until  he  had  climbed  the  levee  and  stood  confront- 
ing them  some  ten  feet  away.  Then  Jeanne, 
feeling  his  gaze,  turned.  She  flushed  scarlet, 
and  flashed  her  resentful  orbs  full  upon  his 
face.  She  hesitated  a  moment  in  silence,  her 
eyes  darkening  momentarily,  and  her  breath 
coming  quickly.  Then  she  uttered  a  low,  smoth- 
ered exclamation. 

"  Monsieur  Rossart !" 
72 


THE    TURN    OF    THE    TIDE 

She  turned  deathly  pale,  and  grasped  the  arm 
of  the  kneeling  negress  in  alarm.  Her  heart 
beat  within  her  breast,  but  she  sat  upright,  and 
even  smiled  with  a  cold  grace  as  though  she  defied 
him. 

Rossart  laughed.  "  Must  I  introduce  myself?" 
he  asked,  going  nearer  to  her.  "  My  lady  Jeanne 
seems  surprised  to  see  her  erstwhile  knight.  Be- 
lieve me,  dear  madame,  nothing  could  equal  my 
delight,  when,  some  two  months  ago,  I  heard 
that  so  fair  a  lady  would  honor  these  bereft 
shores.  Destiny  ever  brings  you  within  my  hor- 
oscope." 

The  insolence  of  his  bold  glance  and  the  fa- 
miliarity of  his  tone  angered  Jeanne.  She  shot 
him  a  withering  look  from  under  her  long  lashes, 
and  rose  to  her  feet,  bowing  profoundly. 

"  Is  it  the  custom  in  Louisiana  for  a  gentleman 
to  approach  a  lady  uninvited?" 

Her  red  mouth  curved  with  a  pout,  and  she  lifted 
her  head  with  proud  scorn. 

Rossart  felt  the  charm  of  her  presence.  In- 
stinctively he  sought  to  make  her  manner  more 
gracious. 

"  Softly,  madame,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  I  grant 
you  your  impeachment,  but  he  who  helps  not 
himself  deserves  no  favor." 

She  stared  haughtily,  and  fixed  her  shining 
eyes  upon  him. 

"I  cannot  conceive  why  any  man  should  feel 
73 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

free  to  force  his  presence  upon  me.    In  France 
we  do  not  allow  our  servants  such  privileges." 

"Fortune  is  but  the  turn  of  a  tide,  madame, 
and  he  who  was  low  in  France  is  high  in  power 
in  Louisiana.  You  choose  to  bear  yourself  like 
a  queen,  and  disdain  me  as  ever." 

He  came  close,  and  stood  over  her  with  folded 
arms.  Celie  had  strolled  off  a  short  distance 
from  them.  Rossart's  voice  had  an  oily  sort  of 
persuasion  in  it;  his  speech  was  deliberate,  also 
his  movements,  but  they  were  those  of  a  man 
who  was  used  to  having  his  own  way.  He  wait- 
ed a  moment  for  her  to  speak,  in  no  way  discon- 
certed by  her  defiant  manner. 

"Believe  me,  madame,  I  am  servant  only  to 
such  as  you,  and  that  by  power  of  love  alone. 
Cupid  is  a  fickle  sovereign,  but  he  holds  his 
subjects  by  bonds  as  strong  as  steel.  Sev- 
en years  ago  I  first  met  you,  and  one  year 
ago,  in  France,  I  vowed  that  this  day  should 
come." 

She  looked  at  him  with  disgust  and  loathing 
which  would  have  made  a  more  sensitive  man 
quail,  and  then  laughed  in  his  face. 

He  bent  towards  her,  confident,  compelling  in 
manner. 

"Why  did  you  come  out  to  Louisiana,  my 
dainty  lady?  Why  were  you — "  he  hesitated 
and  watched  her  face — "  selected  as  the  emissary 
of  the  king?" 

74 


THE    TURN     OF    THE    TIDE 

He  stopped  and  smiled  down  upon  her,  a  flame 
growing  in  his  eyes. 

She  turned  pale,  and  faced  him  in  deadly  si- 
lence. She  feared  his  knowledge,  and  knew  that 
he  would  be  hard  to  thwart.  Then  her  eyes  turned 
from  him,  and  wandered  musingly  towards  the 
Mississippi,  where  the  cruel  yellow  waves  lapped 
the  green  bank  in  greedy  exultation. 

"I  came  to  Louisiana,  Monsieur  Rossart,  be- 
cause it  was  my  will.  You  have  made  a  blun- 
der, as  many  before  you  have  done." 

"  There  are  men  of  affairs  in  every  community/' 
he  said,  convincingly.  "Louisiana  has  her  he- 
roes, but  we  who  make  the  heroes  are  men  of 
cooler  blood  and  better  mettle.  We  are  the  men 
who  deal  death,  or  make  way  for  all  who  come 
to  Louisiana.  We  dress  our  puppets  in  scarlet 
and  satin  for  the  greater  show,  and  pull  the  string 
when  the  time  comes.  Doubtless  Poche  gave 
you  admonitions  of  this  fact.  He  is  the  puppet, 
and  the  string  has  been  pulled — madame  is  here 
— her  husband  may  follow." 

She  trembled,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  a 
wild  look  in  her  eyes,  but  the  mood  instantly 
changed. 

"  Why  did  you  single  out  my  husband?" 

He  laughed  shamelessly,  with  an  evil  mocking 
in  his  face. 

"Where  the  husband  goes,  perforce  the  wife 
will  follow/'  he  said,  quickly.  "The  king  and 

75 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

the  India  Company  demand  a  messenger.  What 
easier  than  to  depute  Captain  Poche,  cousin  to 
d'Artin.  Here  in  Louisiana  we  are  not  prudes, 
and  women  such  as  you,  madame,  young,  beau- 
tiful, and  of  fine  wit,  find  ready  homage  from  men 
of  worth.  Believe  me,  madame,  I  am  a  diplomat. 
It  is  easier  to  lead  than  to  force.  Captain  Poche 
desires  glory  as  a  soldier.  What  more  alluring 
than  this  Louisiana,  with  conquests  to  be  made, 
gold  to  be  unearthed,  and  renown  through  state- 
craft? The  king  evidently  has  use  for  his  ser- 
vices at  present  in  France.  Abroad  madame  has 
courtiers  to  command,  but  none  more  anxious  to 
obey  than  your  humble  servant."  He  suddenly 
drew  very  close  to  her.  "  Nay,  long  I  have  loved 
you,  madame,  long  I  have  planned  to  bring  you 
out  to  Louisiana." 

Before  she  had  time  to  realize  his  purpose  his 
arm  was  around  her  and  he  had  pressed  his  hot 
lips  to  her  cheek. 

She  struggled  violently,  her  breath  coming 
hurriedly  through  her  parted  lips,  and  mad  de- 
fiance within  her. 

"  How  dare  you?" 

Her  whole  soul  rose  in  fierce  revolt.  Her  eyes 
blazed  with  wrath,  and  she  struggled  to  release 
herself  from  his  encircling  arms.  Another  mo- 
ment, and  Jupiter,  Laville's  dog,  dashed  up  to 
them  with  a  low,  savage  growl.  In  an  instant 
he  had  one  of  Rossart's  ankles  in  his  huge  jaws, 

76 


THE    TURN    OF    THE    TIDE 

and  would  have  done  him  serious  injury  had  not 
his  master's  voice  called  to  him  from  below  the 
levee. 

Rossart's  hold  on  Jeanne  relaxed.  She  sprang 
from  him  to  the  willow  hedge,  and  Celie  ran  to 
her  side.  All  Jeanne's  soul  was  in  a  tumult. 
She  loathed  Rossart,  and  condemned  herself  for 
listening  to  him  even  for  a  moment. 

By  this  time  Laville  had  climbed  up  the  bank. 
Crimson  spots  burned  in  Jeanne's  cheeks  and 
her  eyes  flashed  fire. 

Laville  bowed  with  respectful  formality,  glanc- 
ing quickly  at  Rossart,  and  holding  his  cocked 
hat  lightly  to  one  side. 

"  Did  you  call,  madame?" 

Jeanne  gazed  from  Rossart  to  Laville  and  back 
again,  instantly  recognizing  Laville. 

"No,"  she  answered.  "I  may  have  made  an 
outcry,  but  not  for  help.  I  wish  you  both  good- 
evening,  gentlemen/' 

She  swept  them  a  stately  courtesy,  and,  with 
her  little  head  held  high,  stepped  between  them, 
and  down  the  green  bank,  followed  by  Celie, 
leaving  the  perfume  of  roses  and  violets  in  her 
wake. 


CHAPTER  VII 
"  THEIR  VERY  FRAGRANCE  SPEAKS  OF  YOU  " 

IT  occurred  to  Laville  a  few  days  later  that  he 
ought  to  go  to  d' Artin's  and  inquire  for  Jeanne. 
He  had  often  been  heard  to  make  the  assertion 
savagely  that  no  woman  could  ever  hold  sway 
over  him,  yet  every  step  of  the  way  to  d'Artin's 
he  was  beset  by  melancholy  forebodings.  He 
had  often  made  mistakes  in  his  life,  sometimes 
foolish  ones,  sometimes  of  graver  import,  but  he 
had  managed  withal  to  maintain  his  peace  of 
mind  and  general  equipoise.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  adventurous,  careless  life  he  was  suddenly 
brought  to  a  pause.  In  all  the  years  of  his  buoy- 
ant youth  he  had  never  once  met  a  woman  who 
had  cost  him  a  single  thought  when  she  was  out 
of  sight.  With  mocking  banter  he  assured  him- 
self that  Jeanne  was  but  a  novelty  in  these  dull 
times,  and  laughed  with  a  mingled  sense  of  ridi- 
cule and  shame  at  the  impulse  that  took  him  to 
d'Artin's  to  see  another  man's  wife.  He  had 
spent  so  much  time  alone  in  the  wilds  of  Louisiana, 
wandering  for  days  with  only  an  Indian  for  com- 
pany, that  he  had  become  something  of  a  phi- 

78 


"THEIR  FRAGRANCE  SPEAKS  OF  YOU" 

losopher,  and  often  found  himself  reflecting  the 
feelings  and  sentiments  of  a  man  who  is  closely 
in  touch  with  nature.  He  walked  along  the  rue 
Royale,  and  turned  into  the  rue  de  St.  Pierre,  ac- 
cusing himself  of  folly  in  desiring  to  see  this 
woman  from  the  court  of  France. 

It  was  towards  evening,  near  the  hour  when 
Madame  d'Artin  generally  received.  In  every 
house,  and  on  every  gallery,  women  and  children 
aired  their  best  wardrobes,  drifting  here  and  there 
by  an  open  doorway,  or  flitting  about  the  gar- 
dens in  the  sunlight,  prattling,  restless,  high- 
tempered  as  were  the  Louisianians  of  those  early 
days.  In  nearly  every  face  he  saw  suggestions 
of  some  point  of  history  of  the  young  colony. 
Few  of  the  women  but  hid  in  their  own  hearts 
deep  feelings  engendered  by  the  uncertainty  of 
the  times,  and  few  of  the  children  but  had  a  fa- 
ther or  brother  who  mingled  in  the  affairs  of  the 
little  French  colony. 

Laville  thought  of  these  homes,  the  happy 
faces  suddenly  reminding  him,  with  a  sickening 
sense  of  desolation,  that  he  had  none.  He  won- 
dered that  evening,  with  no  definiteness  of 
thought,  whether  he  was  as  happy  as  they.  He 
remembered  d'Artin's  contented  home  life,  and 
then  again  his  mind  recurred  to  Jeanne.  Did 
her  husband  love  her?  Did  she  love  him?  If  so, 
why  was  she  here  alone?  When  two  people  love, 
do  they  not  desire  to  be  together? — now,  here- 

79 


after,  even  beyond  the  grave?  That  is  what  he 
had  thought  of,  once  in  a  while,  in  his  lonely 
moments.  A  love  that  could  not  bear  separation, 
something  steadfast,  something  true,  a  symbol 
of  eternal  life,  which,  amid  the  confusions  and 
cynicisms  of  the  world,  would  shine  steadily  to 
the  end,  the  love  of  one  man  for  one  woman. 

He  sighed,  and  turned  into  the  street  that  faced 
the  river,  and  went  slowly  on  towards  d'Artin's. 
He  passed  up  the  walk  between  the  nodding  wall 
of  roses.  From  somewhere  up-stairs  he  heard  a 
silvery  peal  of  laughter.  It  found  its  way  through 
the  high  chamber  and  across  the  gallery,  down 
among  the  trees,  and  thence  to  the  rose-bordered 
pathway.  Laville  knew  it  to  be  Jeanne.  No 
other  woman  could  laugh  in  that  way,  with  such 
careless  abandon.  What  could  have  put  her  in 
such  a  gay  mood?  But  then  she  had  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  always  glad.  He  hoped  she  was 
not  light,  frivolous,  soulless,  like  the  roses.  Some- 
how her  face  did  not  warrant  that.  There  must 
be  a  few  women  somewhere  who  were  true,  or 
else  the  old  world  was  sadly  out  of  joint. 

He  turned  quickly  up  the  steps.  The  laugh 
came  again.  He  crossed  the  gallery,  and  after 
a  while  Celie  let  him  in,  telling  him  that  Madame 
d'Artin  would  have  to  be  excused  for  a  short 
time,  but  that  Madame  Poche  would  receive  him. 
Then  she  led  him  into  the  big  reception-room, 
and  left  him  in  front  of  the  fire,  leaning  against 

80 


"THEIR  FRAGRANCE  SPEAKS  OF  YOU" 

the  dark  mantel-piece  surmounted  by  a  pair  of 
huge  vases.  They  were  filled  with  great  bunches 
of  late  roses,  those  that  grew  along  the  foot-path, 
and  their  faint  perfume  innocently  reminded  La- 
ville  of  his  boyhood  days.  The  exhaled  sweet- 
ness brought  back  a  vivid  picture  of  an  old  French 
chateau.  His  affections  forced  him  to  think  of 
his  mother,  and  his  heart  leaped  at  the  fragrance 
of  that  bygone  time.  His  mother  had  had  blue 
eyes,  not  just  like  his,  and  a  delicate  brilliancy 
of  complexion.  Her  eyes  flashed  up  from  the 
past.  He  had  not  lost  his  lofty  ideals  since  her 
day,  but  his  feet  had  wandered  into  many  by- 
paths. Women  had  amused  him,  interested  him 
for  brief  spells,  but  he  had  never  cared  or  thought 
of  them  after  they  had  gone,  until  this  one — the 
lady  Jeanne — had  forced  herself  into  his  thoughts. 
He  had  known  more  beautiful  women — for  she 
was  not,  strictly  speaking,  beautiful — but  none  so 
alluring,  so  like  a  sorceress;  and  to  save  his 
soul  he  could  not  get  her  out  of  his  mind.  Vague, 
dreamy,  half-tender  thoughts  swept  through  him. 
There  was  a  sudden  fragrance  of  violet  and  rose, 
a  subtle  suggestion  of  elegance  in  the  atmosphere. 
It  was  like  the  scent  of  his  mother's  garments, 
or  was  it  simply  a  memory  of  some  perfume? 
Then,  looking  up,  he  saw  Jeanne  coming  down 
the  stairs  and  through  the  wide  hall.  She  did 
not  dream  that  the  man  standing  by  the  fire  had 
conjured  up  a  shadow  figure  as  she  came  to  meet 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

him  in  rose -satin  petticoat,  with  gayly  flowered 
pannier  and  low  bodice.  She  wore  a  soft  ker- 
chief of  finest  lace  knotted  about  her  shoulders. 
Her  hair  of  sunny  brown  was  powdered,  and 
fastened  loosely  behind.  There  was  a  languor- 
ous grace  about  her  movements,  and  the  sweet 
scent  of  violets — that  fragrance  of  the  past — 
exuded  from  her. 

Laville  went  smilingly  to  greet  her.  She 
bowed  low  with  a  sweep  of  her  skirts.  Her  eyes 
were  very  bright,  and  she  flushed  gladly  when 
he  took  her  hand  like  an  acquaintance  of  long 
standing. 

She  turned  her  face  away,  and  laughed  to  hide 
her  embarrassment. 

"  Madame  is  herself  to-day." 

He  looked  down  on  her  with  unveiled  admira- 
tion in  his  sombre  eyes.  She  drew  a  long  breath 
as  he  gazed  at  her. 

"Oh,  happy  transformation!"  cried  Laville. 
For  a  moment  he  was  perfectly  happy  with  a 
happiness  quite  foreign  to  him. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  look  at  it  in  that  way.  I  am 
afraid  we  are  not  going  to  be  friends."  She 
glanced  up  in  his  face  with  girlish  piteousness, 
and  added :  "  And  that  will  be  a  disappointment. " 

He  bent  over  her  impetuously. 

"You  do  me  an  injustice,"  he  said,  quickly. 
"But  a  man  can  find  more  pleasure  in  a  woman 
than  in  a  boy,  be  he  never  so  charming."  He 

82 


"THEIR  FRAGRANCE  SPEAKS  OF  YOU" 

ignored   their  last  meeting,  when  Rossart   had 
been  present. 

The  rose  satin,  deepening  into  crimson  in  the 
folds,  swept  by  him  as  Jeanne  passed  .over  to  a 
high-backed  divan  and  sat  down  by  the  fire.  She 
had  not  been  surprised  when  he  was  announced, 
and  had  come  down  to  meet  him  with  an  antici- 
pation of  pleasure.  She  smiled  at  him,  noting 
his  fine,  rugged  head  and  magnificent  height. 
There  was  a  worn  look  about  the  eyes  for  a  man 
of  his  years  which  made  the  charm  for  her  the 
stronger.  Expression  and  action  and  the  tale 
of  his  life  had  traced  lines  which  are  never  found 
on  some  faces  though  they  live  to  be  a  hundred. 
She  wondered  what  manner  of  man  he  was. 
Strange  she  should  have  so  liked  him  from  the 
moment  of  meeting.  She  folded  her  slender, 
jewelled  hands  in  her  lap,  and  Laville  observed 
that  on  one  of  her  fingers  there  glittered  a  dia- 
mond and  emerald  ring.  The  charm  of  her  man- 
ner was  so  irresistible  that,  when  she  looked  up, 
Laville  fancied  she  was  observing  him  as  no  other 
woman  had  done  before;  not  as  a  chance  ac- 
quaintance, but  as  some  one  she  had  known  al- 
ways. A  sudden  elation  seized  him. 

"  It  seems  as  though  we  had  known  each  other 
long  ago,  and  that  this  is  but  a  renewal  of  a  pleas- 
ant friendship,"  he  remarked  lamely,  still  stand- 
ing. 

Jeanne  looked  up  sympathetically. 
83 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"It  may  have  been  when  we  were  on  earth  be- 
fore/' she  replied,  gayly.  "I  have  a  vague  idea 
that  I  was  here  long  ago ;  only  then  I  must  have 
been  an  Egyptian  queen  or  some  grand  princess." 

"And  I  was  one  of  your  courtiers  in  that  far- 
away, almost  forgotten  time." 

Then  they  both  laughed  impulsively,  and  La- 
ville  seated  himself  near  the  fire  also,  for,  though 
it  was  spring,  the  air  was  damp. 

"You  are  a  luxurious  lady,"  said  Laville,  in- 
dicating the  mass  of  pillows  surrounding  her 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

Jeanne  laughed  a  merry,  rippling  laugh,  and 
her  white  fingers  clasped  and  unclasped  in  her 
lap. 

"And  what  a  creature  you  are  for  flowers!  I 
have  never  seen  so  many  here  before." 

He  glanced  about  with  pleased  eyes.  There 
were  bowls  of  jasmine  and  roses  everywhere — on 
the  mantel-piece,  on  the  tables,  in  the  windows, 
displaying  a  wealth  of  color,  and  dispersing  a 
rich  fragrance  and  dainty  freshness  through  the 
room. 

"Yes,  I  do  love  them,"  said  Jeanne,  quickly. 
"I  always  have  them  about  me  at  home." 

"Home!"  he  echoed,  moodily.  "How  the 
word  carries  my  fancy  back  to  France!  I  have 
not  known  the  meaning  of  home  since  I  came  out 
here.  Isolation  decivilizes  a  man.  It  is  the 
woman  who  makes  the  home  and  brings  fra- 

84 


"THEIR    FRAGRANCE   SPEAKS  OF  YOU" 

grance  into  life.  You,  Madame  Poche,  seem  to 
gather  much  that  is  fairest  and  home-like  about 
you." 

"  I  have  some  regard  for  the  pleasant  things  of 
this  life/'  she  said,  disregarding  his  sudden  sen- 
sitiveness, "and  I  have  gathered  many  of  them 
about  me.  New  Orleans  may  take  exception  to 
my  manners,"  she  continued,  looking  up  with 
laughing  insolence,  "but  I  am  accustomed  to 
having  my  own  way;  and  Cousin  Luce  has  al- 
most made  me  believe  it  is  a  very  wild  sort  of  way. 
Ah,  life  is  so  gay,  so  gay  at  court.  We  live  in  the 
sun.  It  unfits  us  for  anything  but  pleasure." 

Laville's  eyes  darkened,  and  his  lips  curled 
scornfully. 

"One  should  not  lose  one's  personality  by  pan- 
dering to  the  world;  it  cares  naught  for  us  in  the 
end.  Virtues  are  estimated  by  the  popular  de- 
mand; sometimes  the  demand  is  for  nonentity, 
and  you,  madame,  are  fortunate  to  have  seen  the 
sunny  side  of  life.  We  of  the  wilderness  can 
hardly  understand  that  sort  of  existence.  Those 
of  us  who  lived  another  life  once  seem  to  have 
forgotten  it  here." 

She  smiled  dreamily,  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice, 
as  if  to  herself,  and  continued  to  gaze  with  eyes 
that  were  far  away. 

"  I  do  not  believe  we  really  care  for  the  opinion 
of  the  world — only  for  a  few — sometimes  one  is 
enough — one  who  understands — and  then — there 

85 


THE    KING'S     MESSENGER 

are  things  one  likes  to  do,  and  we  always  want 
some  one  to  help  us." 

There  was  a  sudden  silence.  The  low  fire 
burned  on  the  wide-mouthed  fireplace.  The 
ruddy  blaze  illumined  the  high  walls,  which, 
though  rudely  fashioned,  were  arranged  after 
those  in  vogue  in  Versailles,  brilliant  with  yel- 
low hangings  and  mirrors  and  Louis  XIV. 
furniture. 

Jeanne  at  length  drew  herself  back  to  earth 
with  a  heavy  sigh.  Her  eyes  lost  their  far-away 
expression,  and  she  looked  at  Laville,  laughing 
softly. 

"Air  castles!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  am  forever 
building  them." 

"I  suppose  you  have  begun  to  feel  at  home," 
remarked  Laville,  "  though  many  of  our  pioneers, 
as  I  have  said,  never  experience  that  feeling  here." 

"  Yes,  and  to  feel  how  much  I  am  in  your  debt. 
I  know  now  that  I  did  not  fully  realize  my  danger 
that  night.  I  thank  you  so  much." 

She  stretched  out  her  hand  with  a  gesture  of 
graceful  acknowledgment  —  very  eloquent,  but 
very  unconventional.  She  was  utterly  uncon- 
strained, and  strikingly  free  from  affectation, 
yet  repelling  anything  but  the  utmost  deference 
and  respect. 

Laville  asked  her  no  question,  but  listened,  as 
she  drifted  from  one  subject  to  another  with  the 
freedom  and  spontaneous  gayety  of  a  child. 

86 


"THEIR  FRAGRANCE   SPEAKS   OF  YOU" 

"  Now  do  you  feel  that  you  know  who  I  am?" 

She  asked  the  question  abruptly,  after  having 
told  him  something  of  her  home  and  her  life  in 
France.  The  green-gray  eyes  were  turned  on 
him  for  a  moment  with  more  than  contemplation 
in  the  look. 

He  shook  his  head  in  the  negative,  and  an- 
swered, with  a  rueful  countenance,  quiet  and 
self-poised,  though  inwardly  disquieted: 

"  I  am  told  you  are  Madame  Poche,  a  messen- 
ger of  the  king ;  that  your  husband  is  detained  in 
France,  but  will  follow  you  here  later;  and  you 
are  cousin  to  Antoine  d'Artin.  But,  as  I  am  a 
man,  I  do  not  understand  you.  No  man  knows 
a  woman,  if  he  live  to  be  a  graybeard." 

She  nodded  her  head  and  spoke  quickly. 

"  A  merry  jest,  and  yet  you  may  be  right.  We 
do  not  know  ourselves.  Human  nature — the 
feminine  nature  in  particular — is  very  complex, 
and  how  should  one  understand?" 

Laville  listened  gravely  as  she  smoothed  out 
the  lap  of  her  gay  satin  gown  uneasily  with  her 
small  white  hands,  and,  with  trouble  gathering 
in  her  eyes,  went  on  earnestly : 

"All  jesting  aside,  I  cannot  tell  why,  but,  Cap- 
tain Laville,  I  want  to  stand  well  with  you.  I 
think  it  must  be  because  you  saved  my  life  that 
night." 

A  sudden  pang  seized  Laville's  heart  when  he 
realized  how  little  this  woman  could  ever  be  to 

87 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

him — she  so  inspiring,  so  graceful,  so  alluring. 
The  joy  of  her  presence  was  like  the  sweetness  of 
forbidden  fruit. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  owe  you  some  sort  of  an  ex- 
planation for  my  appearance  on  that  occasion? 
I  am  not  quite  pleased  with  myself,  but  for  some 
one  else  to  be  displeased — some  one  I  would  stand 
well  with—  Oh,  I  won't  have  that!" 

She  spoke  frankly,  almost  impetuously,  and  low- 
ered her  eyes. 

"You  must — you  will  think  well  of  me,"  she 
repeated. 

Laville  unconsciously  moved  his  chair  nearer 
to  her.  If  she  had  been  like  some  women  he  had 
known,  he  would  have  taken  her  hand  and  said 
something  sentimental.  But  he  would  not  have 
presumed  to  lay  a  familiar  finger  on  Jeanne. 
There  was  something  utterly  unapproachable 
about  her,  in  spite  of  her  gay  spirits  and  frank 
confessions.  He  stooped  down  and  picked  a 
book  up  from  the  floor,  and  aimlessly  turned  the 
leaves  over.  Jeanne  noticed  that  his  hands  were 
long  and  slender,  extremely  well  shaped  and 
strong,  with  narrow  finger  -  nails.  Hers  were 
soft  and  white  as  snowballs,  plump  and  dimpled. 
Never  in  her  life  before  had  they  seemed  so  small 
and  weak  to  her  as  at  that  moment.  Then,  as 
she  looked,  she  was  smitten  with  an  overwhelm- 
ing sense  of  his  strength,  of  his  manhood. 

"Oh,  what  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  be  big  and 


"THEIR  FRAGRANCE  SPEAKS  OF  YOU" 

strong.  Ah,  that  is  it — to  be  strong !  How  I  love 
power!" 

"What  an  enthusiastic  little  woman  you  are!" 
exclaimed  Laville. 

"  I  am  honest  at  least.  I  was  looking  at  your 
hands  when  I  spoke.  You  ought  to  have  a  strong 
nature,  if  outward  signs  mean  anything." 

Laville  was  moved  to  admiration  by  her  frank- 
ness. 

"Come,"  she  said,  inquisitively.  "How  about 
the  confidence  you  were  about  to  repose  in  me? 
I  always  want  the  best  the  world  can  give,  and 
anything  you  have  to  give  will  be  of  your  best,  I 
am  sure." 

"You  flatter  me,  madame." 

Still  he  hesitated  and  looked  absently  in  the 
fire.  When  he  spoke  it  was  more  to  himself. 

"  God  knows,  what  little  I  have  I  would  gladly 
give  you." 

A  flash  of  incredulous  rapture  ran  like  fire 
through  her  veins.  She  did  not  weigh  his  mean- 
ing, this  courted  darling  of  fair  France,  who  had 
been  accustomed  to  flattering  speeches  all  her 
life.  She  only  felt  that  she  was  pleasing  to  him, 
and  she  was  drawn  to  him  all  unheeding  of 
consequences. 

"Go  on,"  she  said,  impatiently.  "What  were 
you  going  to  tell  me  of  yourself?" 

"There  is  little  to  tell,  madame.  A  soldier's 
life  is  pretty  much  the  same  everywhere — a  dream 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

of  glory  soon  quenched  in  hard  realities  that  make 
us  forget  the  visions  of  our  youth.  But  you  who 
come  from  a  world  of  life  and  beauty — tell  me, 
madame,  what  of  yourself?" 

"  My  past  glories  all  seem  dead  now,"  she  said, 
drearily.  "  Somehow  my  home  and  all  that  went 
with  it  are  a  long  way  off." 

The  firelight  playing  about  her  caressed  her 
graceful  form,  kissed  her  round,  white  arms  and 
white  bosom.  A  rosy  color  burned  in  her  cheeks, 
and  her  bright  eyes  glanced  up  at  him  with  royal 
pride.  Her  rose-satin  skirt  almost  touched  him 
where  he  sat,  and  the  poignant  perfume  in  its 
folds  absolutely  pained  his  senses.  In  the  grace 
and  brightness  of  her  beauty,  she  seemed  to  him 
like  a  young  queen. 

"I  was  brought  up  near  the  court/'  she  con- 
tinued. "  I  am  an  only  daughter. " 

"Spoiled!"  he  interjected,  carelessly. 

She  made  a  wry  mouth. 

"And  if  I  am  spoiled,  who  is  to  blame?  You 
men  make  us  so." 

She  laughed  a  little  bitterly,  then  sighed  and 
sank  her  chin — a  voluptuous  little  chin,  with 
soft  curves — into  the  palm  of  one  hand,  and  gazed 
into  the  dying  embers  thoughtfully. 

"I  would  that  you  men  spoke  the  truth,"  she 
said,  simply.  "  We  women  never  know  when  you 
are  in  earnest.  From  the  cradle,  on  through  life, 
you  tell  us  the  same  old  story,  always  the  same." 

90 


"THEIR  FRAGRANCE  SPEAKS  OF  YOU" 

She  smiled  again,  but  with  a  sad  droop  to  the 
corners  of  her  mouth,  and  she  shook  her  head 
disparagingly. 

"  It  is  the  tale  that  draws  us  all  on  to  our  ruin, 
slightly  varied,  but  always  the  same — beauty, 
admiration,  love — ah,  love,  that  is  best/'  A 
quick,  shivering  sigh  ran  through  her. 

"I  grant  you  the  truth  of  that/'  Laville  replied 
with  quiet  force.  "  But  to  one  so  lately  from  the 
court,  such  rude  gallantry  as  my  poor  tongue 
can  utter  must  sound  like  folly/' 

As  he  spoke  he  rose  and  leaned  against  the 
mantel-piece.  The  fire  on  the  hearth  burned 
still  lower  before  either  broke  the  silence  again. 
At  last  she  rose  also  and  stood  near  him.  The 
faint  fragrance  of  her  garments  continued  to 
affect  him  with  a  strange  poignancy.  Then  she 
spoke  very  slowly  in  a  voice  evidently  under 
strong  control. 

"  Does  it,  indeed,  seem  strange  to  you,  Captain 
Laville,  that  a  woman  such  as  I  should  leave  her 
home  in  France  and  sail  to  this  wild  land  alone, 
unprotected,  unattended  by — her  husband?" 

There  was  intense  anxiety  in  her  questioning 
words.  She  had  a  dim  perception  that  she  was 
making  a  poor  appearance  before  this  gallant 
soldier,  who  touched  her  womanhood  in  an  un- 
wonted manner. 

"  Yes,  madame.  Since  you  ask  me,  I  confess  I 
have  thought  of  it  in  that  way,"  he  replied,  hon- 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

estly,  yet  not  without  a  suggestion  of  sym- 
pathy. 

Her  haughty  eyes  suddenly  flashed  resentment. 
His  confession  was  a  trifle  galling  to  her  pride, 
though  it  did  not  fail  to  deepen  her  impression  of 
his  truthfulness.  All  her  life  men  had  flattered 
her,  lied  to  her.  Oh,  she  knew  it  well !  What  of 
it?  It  was  the  way  of  her  world,  and  she  had 
won  her  way  with  them  all.  An  honest  man 
was  so  rare  as  to  be  unfashionable. 

"Then  think  of  it  as  a  woman's  whim,"  she 
replied,  hotly. 

"  I  will  not  think  of  it  at  all  unless  you  bid  me/' 
he  answered,  gently.  "  It  was  you  who  asked  the 
question.  It  would  have  been  grave  discourtesy 
in  me  to  criticise  your  procedure.  Doubtless 
you  know  your  own  affairs  best,  madame,  and  I 
am  willing  to  believe  that  your  husband  is  a  brave 
gentleman  who  would  have  been  your  escort  if  he 
could." 

A  faint  blush  of  shame  overspread  her  face. 
She  was  for  the  moment  embarrassed  and  bewil- 
dered. Her  eyes  gathered  a  certain  retrospec- 
tion. Her  voice  sank  lower. 

"Only  a  woman's  whim,"  she  reassured  him. 
The  flexible  mouth  that  had  smiled  proudly  a 
moment  ago  had  a  pathetic  droop.  "  You  must 
believe  that  my  husband  is  all  that  is  chivalrous 
and  noble.  Don't  blame  him." 

She  broke  off  with  a  nervous  laugh,  and  bent 
92 


"THEIR  FRAGRANCE   SPEAKS  OF  YOU" 

over  a  bunch  of  red  roses  on  the  table.  Her 
heart  was  oppressed  with  remorse.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  she  had  led  Laville  to  believe  that 
Poche  was  not  all  a  husband  ought  to  be? 
Then  suddenly  it  came  to  her  that  it  was  noth- 
ing to  her  what  he  thought.  She  raised  her 
head  with  a  determination  to  make  him  think 
better  of  her,  and  plunged  into  a  spirited  conver- 
sation, chattering  and  laughing  with  simplicity 
and  freedom.  She  was  a  woman  of  keen  wit  and 
animation,  and  she  surprised  Laville  by  her 
knowledge  of  colonial  affairs  and  her  grasp  of 
the  Company's  policy.  She  talked  of  the  court 
and  many  people  he  had  never  seen,  but  he  was 
interested  in  all  she  said.  He  had  been  inter- 
ested in  the  young  masquerader  when  he  rescued 
her  from  the  drunken  brawlers  and  took  her  for 
a  youth  in  distress,  but  the  winsome  face,  the 
soft  eyes,  and  the  silvery  laugh  of  the  woman 
before  him  had  a  dangerous  fascination  for  him 
that  held  him  in  a  spell. 

"How  beautiful  is  this  Louisiana!"  she  sud- 
denly exclaimed.  "I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  for- 
get it?" 

"It  is  the  fate  of  those  who  go — to  forget;  of 
those  who  stay  behind — to  remember.  You  will 
be  going  some  day,  but  I  will  be  here." 

"Yes,  you  will  be  here,"  she  said,  musingly, 
"and  I  shall  remember  you  and  think  of  you 
sometimes." 

93 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

He  laughed  quickly,  but  there  was  a  daring 
appeal  in  his  grave  eyes. 

"  How  will  you  care?" 

"More  than  you  imagine/'  she  responded. 
"  Oh  yes,  I  shall  always  remember  you,  I  think." 
Then,  with  one  of  her  sudden  changes  of  mood, 
"You  know  one  must  have  amusement  in  life. 
You  have  amused  me/' 

He  frowned  disapprovingly.  He  could  not 
brook  ridicule.  Jeanne  saw  her  mistake. 

"  No,  no!  It  is  not  that,"  she  cried  passionate- 
ly. "  You  make  me  feel  as  I  have  longed  to  make 
others  feel — I — I  want  to  touch  their  hearts,  but 
you — you  are  different.  All  my  life  I  have  been 
an  observer  of  others,  and  approved  or  disap- 
proved. Nobody  has  questioned  my  sentiments. 
A  woman  is  a  bundle  of  chords,  notes,  and  strings 
— a  delicate  instrument  waiting  to  be  played  on 
to  bring  out  the  fine  harmonies  of  her  soul.  I 
often  wonder  if  there  is  really  anything  fine  in 
me.  I  have  felt  that  there  was,  but  it  has  lain 
dormant ;  I  think  it  will  go  on  so  to  the  end,  and 
I  will  never  know." 

Laville  breathed  hard.  This  was  an  unlooked- 
for  confession  of  the  strong,  restless  heart  of  the 
woman  before  him.  He  was  moved  by  her  un- 
conscious appeal,  but  he  merely  smiled,  strange- 
ly transfigured  by  the  kindling  light  in  his 
eyes. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  ventured,  in  a  rush  of 
94 


"THEIR  FRAGRANCE   SPEAKS  OF  YOU" 

confidence,  "I  fear  I  am  on  the  black  books  of 
most  people.     They  do  not  understand  me." 

"Not  even  your  husband?"  he  hazarded,  half 
playfully,  half  earnestly. 

"Don't  speak  of  him,  please/'  she  said,  gently, 
with  an  appealing  look.  "At  least  let  me  be 
loyal." 

She  gave  an  involuntary  glance  at  the  sombre 
face  so  near  her  own,  and  continued,  cheerily : 

"  I  suppose  you,  too,  will  think  I  am  dreaming 
most  of  the  time. '  Now  there  is  Luce,  dear  old 
Luce,  with  her  big  velvety  eyes,  and  her  profound 
faith.  She  would  kneel  down  in  a  mud-puddle 
and  say  her  prayers  if  there  was  a  cross  before 
her.  She  only  needs  the  symbol ;  the  rest  is  real, 
and  she  believes  her  prayers  are  immediately 
answered.  Antoine  seems  to  love  her.  If  he  does 
not  she  will  never  know  it.  But  I  am  different. 
I  want  so  much.  I  would  give  all,  and  want  all. 
I  would  sacrifice  my  soul  for  love.  There  is  no 
such  thing  as  absolute  love,  is  there?  No  wom- 
an quite  commands  every  thought  of  any  man, 
does  she?" 

She  courtesied  to  him  with  a  wide  sweep  of 
her  rose-satin  skirts,  half  ashamed  of  her  warmth. 
She  moved  over  to  the  table  which  held  the  bowl 
of  red  roses,  and  began  stripping  the  petals  of  a 
rose  to  cover  her  embarrassment.  Then  she  came 
back  and  stood  beside  him. 

"  Have  you  no  answer?" 
95 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"Madame,  if  I  should  answer  you  truly,  I 
might  offend." 

"  Then  don't.  I  like  you  so  well — I  want  your 
friendship  so  much — that  I  cannot  afford  to  be 
angry  with  you." 

She  held  out  her  hand  impulsively  and  clasped 
his  with  a  warm,  magnetic  pressure. 

"God  bless  you  for  an  honest  woman,"  he 
broke  out,  "and  one  who  is  not  afraid."  His 
heart  sang  jubilantly.  "  With  that  look  in  your 
eyes,  the  devil  himself  would  believe  in  you,  and 
it  means  so  much  to  a  man  to  believe  in  a  woman. 
I  have  never  had  such  faith  in  any  woman  as  I 
have  in  you,  except  my  mother.  God  knows  we 
have  need  of  a  good  woman's  inspiration  and 
faith  in  these  stormy  times." 

His  expression  grew  wistful,  as  he  went  on, 
frankly : 

"That  is  what  we  love  in  a  woman,  truth  in 
the  large  sense.  No  matter  how  vile  a  man  may 
be,  he  is  never  so  base  as  to  be  blind  to  the  virtue 
of  a  good  woman." 

She  flushed  slightly,  and  clasped  her  hands. 

"I  believe  you,"  she  said,  intensely.  "If  we 
were  only  true  to  our  aspirations!  Oh,  I  long 
for  some  things,  and — and — do  you  know — I  am 
sometimes  ashamed  of  myself  —  of  my  frivol- 

ity." 

"For  what  do  you  long?"  The  words  came 
from  him  in  strange  force. 

96 


"THEIR   FRAGRANCE   SPEAKS  OF  YOU" 

"For  success  in  my  work/'  she  replied,  revert- 
ing to  a  lighter  mood. 

"Your  work?"  lifting  his  eyebrows  inquiring- 
ly. "  The  grand  dame  does  no  work. " 

Jeanne  flushed.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  for  the 
first  time  in  all  her  brilliant  career  she  was  checked 
by  some  staying  power  that  turned  the  current 
of  her  thoughts,  and  not  unwillingly. 

"  Do  I  impress  you  as  being  so  very  frivolous?" 

An  unholy  delight  shone  in  his  eyes  at  her 
evident  dejection. 

"You  must  not  consider  what  others  think. 
Besides,  it  can  hardly  matter  to  you  what  a 
rough  soldier  of  Louisiana  thinks  of  a  lady  of 
France." 

"But  it  does,"  impulsively.  "I  cannot  ex- 
pect you  to  care  much,  but  I  do — I — I  do  care 
for  your  opinion." 

At  that  moment  Madame  d'Artin  entered, 
apologizing  for  her  absence,  and  their  conversa- 
tion was  abruptly  ended.  She  noticed  Jeanne's 
flushed  face  and  Laville's  absorption.  She  sat 
near  Jeanne,  stiffly  upright  for  a  moment,  let- 
ting her  mind  dwell  on  the  comedy  these  two 
presented  to  her  unawares. 

"Poor  fool!  He  is  trying  to  impress  Jeanne," 
she  conjectured.  "Little  does  he  know  that  my 
lady  has  never  a  thought  in  her  mind  but  to 
win  hearts  and  turn  heads." 

Laville  became  conscious  of  the  slighting 
G  97 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

coldness  of  her  manner,  and  quickly  adopted 
a  frankness  of  demeanor  intended  to  reassure 
madame. 

"I  have  been  telling  Madame  Poche  what  a 
benediction  she  is  to  us  all,"  he  said,  cordially. 

Jeanne  looked  up  for  a  moment,  uneasily, 
and  then  smiled  innocently  at  her  cousin. 

Madame  returned  the  smile  and  made  a  move- 
ment to  lift  her  embroidery  frame  from  the  table. 
Anticipating  her  wishes,  Laville  courteously 
handed  her  the  work,  but  in  so  doing  he  detached 
a  rose  from  a  bowl  on  the  table,  and  it  held  to 
his  sleeve  by  a  thorn. 

"Give  me  that,"  cried  Jeanne.  "I  have  an 
odd  fancy  for  it." 

All  at  once  she  blushed  furiously  at  her  im- 
pulsiveness, then  quickly  extended  her  hand 
for  the  rose. 

Laville  looked  at  the  little  hand  for  a  moment. 
It  was  so  white  and  soft,  such  a  womanly,  sym- 
pathetic hand,  that  his  impulse  to  touch  it  was 
strong.  He  laid  the  flower  in  her  warm  palm, 
tingling  with  the  magnetic  contact  as  his  fin- 
gers touched  hers  for  an  instant. 

"I  love  flowers,"  she  said,  softly.  "They  are 
the  passion  of  my  life." 

"Jeanne,  what  is  the  use  of  romancing?"  in- 
terrupted madame,  stiffly.  "You  know  you 
like  roses  and  all  other  flowers  because  they  are 
fine  adornments.  I  remember  how  you  wrote 

98 


"THEIR  FRAGRANCE  SPEAKS  OF  YOU" 

to  Antoine  when  you  sent  those  rose-bushes  two 
years  ago,  insisting  that  their  charm  would  in- 
crease each  day.  And  my  foolish  husband 
planted  every  one  of  them,  even  to  the  smallest  lit- 
tle dried-up  slip.  I  like  flowers  too,  but  do  you 
think  I  could  waste  so  much  time  on  senseless 
things,  and  so  much  money?  Tell  me,  child, 
what  did  you  spend  on  the  sweet  trifles — a  pret- 
ty fortune,  I  venture  to  say?" 

"Nay,  Luce,  but  it  was  money  well  spent, 
dear,"  said  Jeanne,  laughing  at  her  parsimo- 
nious cousin.  "Flowers  are  silent  monitors, 
and  one  must  have  delightful  thoughts  where 
there  are  many.  But  I  don't  believe  I  foresaw 
their  sweet  profusion  when  I  sent  those  roots 
out  to  you.  There  are  so  many  now;  the  gar- 
den is  growing  to  be  like  a  corner  of  Paradise." 

"What  do  you  know  about  that?"  asked  ma- 
dame. 

"Only  that  I  cannot  imagine  such  a  place 
without  them,  and  red  roses — ah,  how  I  love 
them!" 

She  looked  reflectively  at  the  red  rose  in  her 
hand,  heavy  headed  and  rich  in  perfume,  like 
its  color.  Then  she  flushed  consciously  and 
glanced  at  Laville. 

"Henceforth  the  red  rose  will  have  a  new 
meaning  for  me,"  said  Laville. 

"Yes,"  said  madame,  without  noticing  the 
significance  of  Laville's  words,  "grandmother 

99 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

used  to  say  that  the  red  rose  is  a  passion  flower, 
and  that  it  is  symbolical  of  love,  but,  of  course, 
that  is  nonsense.  All  I  know  is  that  in  New 
Orleans  they  are  souvenirs  of  Jeanne  Poche 
and  her  foolishness." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
LOVE    IS    LIFE 

THE  day  following  Laville's  call  on  Madame 
Poche  he  went  to  Biloxi,  and  Jeanne  did 
not  see  him  again  for  some  time,  though  his 
name  was  frequently  mentioned  in  the  d'Artin 
household.  Light,  buoyant,  and  always  charm- 
ing, Jeanne  took  her  share  of  the  pleasures  to 
be  found  in  the  little  colony.  She  would  fain 
have  seen  Laville  again.  An  occult  power  in 
the  man  attracted  her  wonderfully,  and  there 
came  a  gentle  look  in  her  face  when  she  thought 
of  his  upright  manhood  and  graceful  homage. 
She  had  been  used  to  the  admiration  of  men, 
but,  as  she  had  told  him,  Laville  was  different. 
There  was  a  grave  earnestness  about  his  per- 
sonality that  attracted  her  impetuous  nature. 
She  did  not  fail  to  listen  intently  whenever  she 
heard  his  name  spoken,  and  she  soon  learned 
that  there  was  discontent  abroad  and  even  seri- 
ous displeasure  with  him  for  his  stanch  faith 
in  Bienville,  the  deposed  governor.  The  sol- 
diers who  had  gone  to  battle  with  him  were  faith- 
ful to  a  man,  but  others,  high  in  power,  were  ill 

101 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

satisfied  with  the  stubborn  stand  he  took.  Al- 
most unconsciously  she  found  herself  taking  his 
side  in  every  argument. 

One  day,  about  the  beginning  of  April,  she 
went  out  walking  alone.  There  were  occasions 
of  ceremony  when  she  liked  Celie  to  follow  her, 
but  once  in  a  while  she  preferred  to  wander  out 
by  herself. 

She  walked  aimlessly  along  the  weedy  streets, 
straying  from  one  into  another  with  a  careless 
disregard  of  her  course,  here  and  there  plucking 
a  rose  or  a  spray  of  late  fruit  blossom. 

It  was  a  dull  afternoon  and  very  warm,  with 
a  heavy  murkiness  in  the  atmosphere  that  sug- 
gested rain.  The  half-clouded  sky  was  radi- 
ated with  alternating  green  and  reddish  glows 
off  towards  the  west.  Jeanne,  always  a  lover 
of  nature,  admired  the  gigantic  live-oaks  that 
frowned  down  upon  the  low  houses  in  every 
direction,  and  sometimes  stretched  their  long 
boughs  over  an  area  of  fifty  feet.  Every  house 
had  its  imitation  of  a  formal  garden  after  the 
style  of  the  French,  but  in  other  respects  small 
interest  in  agriculture  was  manifested,  and  long 
stretches  of  arable  soil  were  given  over  to  a  waste 
of  wild  hemp  diversified  by  palmettoes  and  weeds. 
What  mattered  the  waste  of  vegetable  life,  for 
in  those  days  the  energies  of  men  were  directed 
to  wild  dreams  of  gold  and  silver  mines. 

Jeanne  throbbed  with  a  sense  of  freedom. 
102 


LOVE    IS    LIFE 

Every  nerve  responded  to  the  beauty  of  the 
strange,  wild  landscape,  its  wilderness  of  rushes 
and  reeds,  its  hoary  moss-shrouded  live-oaks, 
and  the  quaint,  low  buildings.  She  went  on  as 
though  in  a  dream,  the  observed  of  all,  and  scarce 
realizing  that  the  sky  was  growing  blacker  and 
a  storm  imminent.  The  low  rumbling  of  thunder 
gave  her  the  first  alarm.  Great  drops  of  rain 
began  to  fall.  She  started  to  retrace  her  steps, 
but  she  was  now  a  long  distance  from  d'Artin's 
house.  The  heavy  downpour  was  fast  drench- 
ing her  garments,  and,  looking  for  shelter,  she 
observed  a  small  enclosure  with  a  house  stand- 
ing back  a  short  distance  from  the  street,  tow- 
ards which  she  rushed  pell-mell — through  the 
wicket  and  up  the  pathway  with  averted  head. 
She  flew  up  the  steps,  and  found  herself  con- 
fronted by  a  man's  arms.  She  looked  up  in 
alarm,  which  instantly  gave  way  to  surprise 
and  relief  when  she  saw  Laville. 

"Ah,  it  is  you!"  she  exclaimed. 

His  laugh  was  pleasant  to  hear. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  are  sorry  to  see  me?" 

"No,  no,  but — I  was  taken  by  surprise — and 
is  this  your  house?" 

She  looked  about  curiously.  They  stood  on 
the  broad  gallery  crowned  with  flowering  vines 
which  climbed  about  the  pillars  of  white  ma- 
sonry. Spanish  daggers  reached  almost  up  to 
the  steps,  and  magnolia-trees  grew  close  to  the 

103 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

house.  There  was  an  open  hallway  through  the 
centre  of  the  house,  running  from  front  to  back. 
The  walls  were  plentifully  hung  with  deer  antlers 
and  trophies  of  the  chase;  the  timbers  in  the  roof 
and  the  shingles  in  the  walls,  resembling  slate, 
looked  weather-beaten  and  stained.  Cobwebs 
hung  in  the  corners,  and  dirt  daubers  had  built 
their  nests  under  the  eaves.  There  was  a  sense 
of  novelty  about  the  place  to  Jeanne,  added  to 
the  sense  of  comfort  which  its  hospitable  shelter 
offered.  The  streets  were  literally  running  rivers 
of  water;  she  knew  she  would  be  obliged  to  re- 
main here  for  some  time. 

Laville  stood  awkward  and  speechless;  Jeanne 
began  to  think  he  was  not  going  to  ask  her  into 
the  house.  Her  limbs  felt  stiff  and  cold,  and  the 
water  ran  from  her  garments  in  little  rivulets. 
She  wondered  if  there  was  a  fire  inside. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  be  here?"  he  asked, 
at  last. 

"If  you  will  only  take  me  inside,  where  I  can 
get  warm,  perhaps  I  may  tell  you,"  she  replied, 
smiling.  "I  am  cold  and  wet — " 

"How  thoughtless  of  me!"  said  Laville,  quick- 
ly. "Of  course  you  cannot  stand  here  in  this 
plight." 

He  quickly  turned  to  the  door  on  the  right 
and  threw  it  open. 

"Forgive  me;  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  made 
me  forget." 

104 


LOVE    IS    LIFE 

Jeanne  followed  him  into  the  great  chamber, 
wonderingly. 

"How  comfortable!"  as  the  warm  air  greeted 
her.  "I  am  so  glad  to  be  here.  For  all  the 
mildness  of  your  climate,  there  is  a  sepulchral 
dampness  on  a  day  like  this  that  chills  one  to 
the  heart." 

Laville  pushed  up  the  logs  on  the  hearth. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  quietly.  "We  need  a  good 
fire  when  it  rains  at  this  season.  Here,  madame, 
take  this  chair.  It  is  too  large  for  so  small  a 
lady,  but  you  will  find  its  roomy  depths  com- 
fortable." " 

The  soft  firelight  streaming  across  the  room 
mingled  with  the  failing  light  and  cast  dancing 
shadows  on  walls  and  floor.  The  rough  tim- 
bers looked  stained  and  blackened,  but  armor 
and  muskets  hanging  high  were  polished  to  a 
brilliancy  that  reflected  the  warm  firelight. 

Laville  stood  on  the  doeskin  rug  by  the  hearth, 
watching  Jeanne  as  she  gravely  surveyed  the 
room. 

"Well,"  he  asked,  gravely.  "What  do  you 
think  of  bachelor  quarters  in  Louisiana?" 

She  laughed  softly  and  brought  her  green- 
gray  eyes  back  to  his.  Her  face  flushed  slight- 
ly, and  the  rain  trickled  from  her  garments. 

"I  have  not  had  time  to  think,  I  am  so  sur- 
prised to  be  here  and  to  see  you.  I  did  not  know 
you  had  returned." 

105 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"  I  only  came  back  last  night.  And  it  is  really 
you,  madame,  who  condescend  to  honor  my 
humble  abode." 

"Yes,  it  is  I — Madame  Poche — a  storm-driven 
bird  seeking  shelter.  Are  you  not  glad  to  see 
me,  captain?" 

The  face,  with  its  mocking  eyes  and  quivering 
mouth,  was  upturned  to  his  again. 

"  More  glad  than  you  can  ever  know,  madame. 
For  the  first  time,  this  place  feels  like  home. 
Hitherto  it  has  been  an  empty  word  to  me  in 
this  wilderness." 

"That  is  pleasant,"  she  said,  in  a  low  and 
winning  voice.  "We  women  are  glad  to  know 
that  we  can  fill  even  a  picture  at  times." 

There  was  an  indefinable  sense  of  softness  in 
her  manner,  something  almost  caressing.  In  a 
vague  way  she  was  conscious  of  a  deep  feeling 
of  pity  for  this  big,  grave  man,  and  a  tone  of 
friendliness  crept  into  her  voice. 

"I  am  really  happy  to  meet  you  again." 

Laville's  heart  beat  faster,  and  the  blood  stirred 
in  his  veins.  How  natural  she  seemed,  how 
frank  and  true! 

There  was  a  deep  silence  for  a  moment.  A 
burning  stick  of  wood  fell  upon  the  hearth  and 
flamed  up.  The  vapor  was  rising  from  Jeanne's 
wet  clothes,  and  recalled  Laville  to  her  sorry 
condition. 

"  Why,  the  water  is  running  from  your  clothes 
1 06 


LOVE    IS    LIFE 

in  rivers/'  he  cried.  "  That  will  never  do."  Un- 
consciously he  assumed  the  air  of  a  protector. 
"I  cannot  suffer  harm  to  come  to  you  under  my 
roof/' 

"I  am  wet,"  she  said,  laughing,  "and  I  am 
still  cold.  Have  you  any  women  about,  Captain 
Laville?  I  would  like  to  borrow  some  dry  gar- 
ments." 

Laville  looked  dismayed. 

"  This  is  a  forlorn  household,"  he  said,  ruefully. 
"  There  is  none  about  but  Marcello,  my  servant, 
and  myself.  But,  madame,  if  you  continue  to 
sit  there  rain  soaked,  you  will  have  a  chill.  What 
sort  of  clothes  do  you  want?" 

She  looked  up  and  laughed  at  his  helplessness, 
and  then  gazed  shyly  at  her  silk  gown. 

"The  clothes  of  a  lady,  of  course." 

"What  say  you  to  the  clothes  of  a  gentle- 
man?" 

She  colored  furiously. 

"I  had  hoped  you  had  forgotten  that  esca- 
pade," she  said,  with  hauteur. 

"  I  did  not  mean  that.  I  am  in  earnest.  You 
will  have  to  wear  something — why  not  try  some- 
thing of  mine?  I  swear,  madame,  I  am  in  a 
quandary." 

"Yours  would  not  fit." 

"Let  me  see.  I  have  some  Indian  blankets. 
Could  you  not  robe  yourself  in  them  after  the 
manner  of  the  squaws?" 

107 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

They  laughed  together  in  merriment,  but  in 
the  midst  of  her  laughter  Jeanne  caught  her 
breath,  shivering  with  a  violent  chill. 

Laville's  mirth  was  abruptly  stayed;  he  went 
quickly  to  one  of  the  tables  and  poured  some 
wine  into  a  goblet. 

"Drink  this,"  he  said.  There  was  a  tender 
look  in  his  eyes,  and  his  manner  was  nervous. 

She  drank  the  wine  without  remonstrance,  but 
still  she  shivered  until  her  teeth  chattered. 

"There — is — no — use  trying  to  be  brave/'  she 
said,  at  last. 

Her  face  was  full  of  nervous  terror,  and  she 
looked  up  at  him  like  a  helpless  child. 

"  I  believe  you  are  ill,"  he  said,  alarmed.  "  Are 
your  feet  wet?" 

"Yes,  very." 

"Those  shoes  must  come  off,  and  you  must 
have  dry  clothes." 

His  eyes  met  and  mastered  hers;  a  sense  of 
determination  marked  his  manner. 

Laville  knelt  on  the  rug  and  took  one  mud- 
bespattered  foot,  scarcely  larger  than  a  child's, 
and,  handling  it  tremulously,  removed  the  shoe; 
then  he  repeated  the  same  office  for  the  other. 
Could  this  be  the  same  woman,  he  asked  him- 
self, so  dominant  and  commanding  at  one  time, 
now  so  appealing  in  her  helplessness? 

Jeanne's  physical  sensibilities  were  so  dulled 
by  the  chill  that  she  seemed  scarcely  conscious 

108 


LOVE    IS    LIFE 

of  his  movements,  and  allowed  him  to  remove 
her  shoes  without  question. 

As  soon  as  Laville  had  taken  off  the  shoes  and 
placed  them  in  front  of  the  fire,  he  went  over  to 
the  settee,  where  a  pile  of  bright-colored  cover- 
ings lent  a  glow  to  that  corner  of  the  room. 

"There  are  several  blankets  here.  If  you  will 
but  try,  I  think  you  can  relieve  yourself  of  your 
wet  clothes.  I  will  go  across  the  hall,  and  if  you 
care  to  have  me  come  back,  call  to  me  or  knock 
on  the  door.  I  shall  be  within  hearing." 

Jeanne  rose  to  her  feet,  still  trembling  with  the 
chill. 

"  I  thank  you,  captain.  I  will  be  glad  to  see 
you,  if  I  can  make  myself  presentable." 

Laville  laughed  lightly,  and  bending  low  in 
deep  reverence,  left  the  room. 

Jeanne  glided  quickly  over  to  the  fire  and 
stooped  closer  to  the  flames.  It  seemed  as  if  she 
never  could  warm  herself.  Shaking  with  ner- 
vousness, she  began  to  remove  her  wet  clothing, 
first  taking  the  packet,  which  never  left  her, 
from  her  bosom,  and  assuring  herself  that  it 
was  dry.  Gradually,  as  she  grew  warmer,  her 
spirits  revived,  and  by  the  time  she  had  arranged 
the  soft  Indian  cloths  about  her,  she  was  as  gay 
as  a  bird  and  enjoying  the  masquerade  with  child- 
ish abandon — so  happy  once  more  that  she  laugh- 
ed aloud.  Twenty  times,  at  least,  she  fastened 
and  refastened  the  impromptu  skirt  about  her 

109 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

limbs,  a  brilliant  mass  of  floating  yellow  and 
scarlet;  and  as  many  times  pulled  on  and  off  an 
old  scarlet  coat  of  Laville's  which  she  found  on 
a  chair. 

The  next  moment  she  bit  her  lip  with  vexa- 
tion and  almost  cried,  for,  peeping  out  from  be- 
neath her  parti-colored  skirt,  she  saw  her  rosy 
bare  feet.  What  should  she  do?  No  stockings, 
no  shoes,  and  he,  the  captain,  in  the  other  room, 
waiting  all  this  time  to  be  called.  Slowly  she 
arranged  her  wet  skirts  before  the  fire,  modest- 
ly hiding  the  petticoat,  voluminous  with  lace 
flounces,  under  the  silk  gown. 

"But  those  feet!" 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  groaned,  when 
suddenly,  oh,  joy!  protruding  from  under  the 
bed,  she  saw  a  pair  of  Laville's  moccasins.  She 
clapped  her  hands  gleefully,  and  then  slipped 
them  on — first  one  dainty  foot  and  then  the  other. 
Ah!  the  blessed  Virgin  keep  him  from  looking! 
She  shambled  over  to  the  door,  laughing  all  the 
while,  and  gave  a  peremptory  knock.  Then  she 
hurried  back  to  the  centre  of  the  room  and  wait- 
ed with  smiling  face.  There  was  a  pause,  then 
the  silence  was  broken  by  Laville's  firm  tread 
crossing  the  hall. 

As  he  opened  the  door,  a  faint  and  distant 
melody,  mingling  with  the  sound  of  the  storm, 
came  from  the  church  across  the  way.  It  was 
the  vesper  hymn,  a  chanting,  dreamy  petition 

no 


LOVE    IS    LIFE 

which  seemed  to  fit  in  well  with  the  scene.  Al- 
most in  rhythm  with  the  measure,  Jeanne  bent 
her  body  in  a  picturesque  salute,  with  her  hands 
raised  above  her  head,  after  the  fashion  of  an 
Oriental's  greeting.  Every  movement  of  her 
body  and  every  expression  of  her  face  followed 
with  infinite  grace  the  measure  of  the  chant. 
She  glowed  with  warm,  pulsing  life,  a  dreamy 
abandon  in  every  line  of  her  lithe  form  that  added 
piquancy  to  her  presence. 

She  laughed  and  waited  for  him  to  speak, 
then,  as  he  remained  silent  in  evident  admira- 
tion, she  hurriedly  questioned  him : 

"What  do  you  think  of  me  now?  Do  I  look 
like  a  lady  of  New  France?  And,"  hesitating, 
"I  would  be  very  glad  if  you  would  move  that 
big  chair  over  here.  I  am  sorely  afraid  I  might 
lose  my  shoes  if  I  attempted  to  walk  so  far." 

Laville's  eyes  twinkled  merrily.  Though  fan- 
tastically attired,  Jeanne  seemed  more  radiant 
and  alluring  than  ever.  He  regarded  her  for  a 
few  seconds  in  silence,  wondering  at  the  vi- 
tality that  gave  even  childish  things  a  new 
interest. 

"On  my  conscience!"  he  said,  at  last.  "You 
are  a  poem  incarnate — you  have  transformed 
this  humble  room  into  a  palace  of  beauty.  True 
it  is  as  shabby  as  ever,  but  you  have  created 
an  atmosphere — " 

"Of  disorder?" 

in 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

She  paused  and  followed  his  eyes.  He  was 
looking  at  her  garments  drying  before  the  fire. 

"There  was  nothing  else  to  do,"  she  said. 
"Those  things  must  remain  there,  for  I  will 
have  to  go  home  shortly." 

"Alas,  yes!"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he 
rolled  the  big  chair  over  to  where  Jeanne  stood. 

She  looked  up  for  a  moment  with  a  laugh,  and 
then  averted  her  head  and  sat  down  at  once  to 
hide  her  embarrassment. 

"Now  tell  me,"  when  she  had  settled  herself 
comfortably,  "  what  do  you  do  here,  all  by  your- 
self?" 

"Sleep!" 

"Ah!  it  is  not  such  a  bad  home,  captain,"  she 
replied,  staring  about.  "I  dare  say  with  a  few 
changes — that  tobacco  put  away,  for  instance, 
those  ashes  brushed  up,  the  pistols  removed, 
and,  on  the  outside  of  the  farthest  window,  the 
cane  cut  away — it  would  look  much  more  invit- 
ing." 

Laville  watched  her  with  a  flush  in  his  pale 
cheeks,  while  she  continued,  her  voice  and  form 
vibrating  with  pleasure. 

"  And  if  I  were  you,  I'd  have  my  servant — Mar- 
cello,  is  that  what  you  call  him?" 

Laville  nodded. 

"Well,  I  would  surely  have  him  dust." 

"That  would  be  such  an  unusual  occurrence 
that  even  the  spiders  would  resent  the  intrusion." 

112 


LOVE     IS    LIFE 

"Doubtless,  but  then  think  how  comfortable 
they  would  be  afterwards." 

Laville  was  deeply  stirred.  What  a  change  she 
wrought  everywhere !  Now  he  saw  her  in  a  new 
light.  He  forgot  the  court  beauty,  the  wom- 
an of  strange  fascinations,  and  saw  only  a  sym- 
pathetic girl  with  a  soft  light  in  her  strange 
green-gray  eyes. 

"  The  pleasures  of  a  well-ordered  home  are  not 
for  all  men/'  he  said,  quickly.  "Madame,  you 
are  an  advocate  of  heart-sickness  when  you  talk 
of  such  subjects." 

"Ah,  well!"  with  quick  grace.  "Both  sides 
have  their  compensations.  Rejoice  that  you 
have  every  freedom.  That  is  a  world !"  she 
laughed. 

Outside  the  rain  still  poured.  Lightning 
chased  across  the  leaden  sky,  and  peals  of  thun- 
der reverberated  through  the  stillness. 

After  some  time  Marcello  came  in  with  sup- 
per on  a  tray.  Jeanne  started,  uncomfortably, 
but,  conscious  of  her  moccasined  feet,  sat  still. 

"Ah,  is  it  so  late?" 

"Not  so  late,  but  I  thought  you  might  honor 
me.  It  is  one  more  boon  I  ask  of  you,  to  sit  at 
my  table.  It  may  be  the  last  request  I  can  make 
of  you.  Here  I  am  master — fate  brought  3Tou  to 
my  door." 

He  glanced  at  her  furtively,   fearing  her   re- 
fusal.    There  was  a  dead  silence  for  a  few  mo- 
H  113 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

ments  while  Marcello  set  the  table  and  served 
the  supper. 

"I  told  Marcello  to  bring  supper  in  here/'  La- 
ville  said,  at  last,  apologetically.  'The  other 
room  is  cold — not  fit  for  you.  It  is  not  in  my 
power  to  do  better,  madame,  but  my  welcome 
must  testify  to  that  desire.  Marcello,  my  man, 
your  linen  is  not  over  neat." 

Marcello,  well  knowing  the  supply  was  scant, 
tried  to  catch  his  master's  eye. 

"  Alas !  my  master,  you  must  berate  the  wom- 
an who  washes  it." 

"Will  it  please  you,  madame?"  said  Laville, 
assisting  Jeanne  to  the  table  with  a  fine  air,  in 
spite  of  the  lack  of  linen  and  silver.  "  Let  me 
serve  you  to  some  of  this  fowl.  It  is  said  our 
meat  here  is  even  better  than  in  France.  Teal- 
duck,  quails,  venison — all  abound  in  this  re- 
gion." 

Jeanne  laughed  like  a  happy  child.  It  was  so 
novel,  so  gay  to  be  there  alone  with  him. 

"Now  I  am  queen  of  your  banquet,"  she  ex- 
claimed, merrily.  "We  can  make  believe  all 
sorts  of  things,  and  be  as  merry  as  we  like.  The 
arrangements  are  perfect;  your  supper  is  just 
right.  No  lady  in  the  world  could  possess  a 
higher  art  in  serving  than  you,  Marcello.  Per- 
chance you  cannot  make  a  ragout,  but  your  fowl 
is  done  to  a  turn.  Long  live  Marcello,  a  genius 
among  cooks!" 

114 


LOVE    IS    LIFE 

She  was  in  a  merry  mood,  and  laughed  and 
talked  foolishness  with  reckless  abandon.  Grad- 
ually the  daylight  faded  outside,  and  the  room 
grew  dark  save  for  the  red  firelight  playing 
across  the  floor. 

"One  can  hardly  think  of  you  as  a  married 
woman/'  Laville  said,  quite  suddenly. 

Jeanne  gave  a  start  and  looked  up.  Laville 
divined  quickly  that  he  had  touched  a  wound. 

"I  forget  it  myself  sometimes,"  said  Jeanne, 
blushing  deeply  in  the  firelight.  "I  suppose  I 
ought  not — but  then  I  do." 

"How  did  it  ever  happen?  Tell  me  some- 
thing of  yourself.  I  am  your  friend,  am  I 
not?" 

Her  jewelled  hands  smoothed  the  lap  of  her 
soft  blanket  robe.  Her  eyes  took  on  a  hard  look, 
and  her  delicate  mouth  closed  firmly  as  if  she 
would  not  speak.  Then  her  lips  moved  slightly, 
tremblingly. 

"A  short  sketch  of  my  life?"  she  asked,  with 
a  nervous  little  laugh. 

"Only  what  you  care  to  tell." 

"Well,  long  ago,  I  lived  as  a  child  with  my 
parents  and  only  brother  in  Versailles.  I  lost 
my  mother  when  I  was  so  young  that  I  scarcely 
remember  her,  but  my  father  brought  me  up,  and 
loved  and  pampered  me  as  fathers  are  apt  to  do 
with  an  only  daughter.  I  was  taught  all  sorts 
of  things  in  books,  and  learned  many  arts  that 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

live  in  the  world  of  fashion.     Then,  when  I  was 
seventeen,  I  was  married." 

She  paused,  forgetting  herself  for  the  instant, 
and  keeping  silence  while  Laville  waited. 

"I  was  only  a  girl/'  she  resumed.  "I  did  not 
know  anything  of  love."  She  paused  again. 
Then  she  went  on  more  slowly.  "Lately  I  have 
sometimes  wondered  what  it  is  to  be  a  girl.  I 
never  had  any  girlhood." 

She  nervously  twisted  the  fastenings  on  the 
coat  she  wore  and  glanced  up  into  Laville's  eyes. 
They  were  looking  so  steadily  down  on  her  that  her 
heart  gave  a  great  leap  and  seemed  to  stand  still. 

Laville  watched  the  serious  face,  feeling  a 
sudden  mad  hatred  of  the  man  who  shared  her 
life.  He  sat  entranced,  watching  the  firelight 
playing  in  the  folds  of  her  strange  robe,  in  the 
gold  of  her  hair,  in  the  deep  orbs  of  her  lumi- 
nous eyes. 

"Your  world  over  yonder  is  very  gay,"  he 
said.  "When  I  think  of  the  life  I  once  lived 
amid  those  scenes,  it  seems  evanescent,  almost 
like  a  dream.  I  suppose  over  there  in  that  world 
of  gayety,  where  the  king  sets  the  pattern  of 
fashion,  that  the  sentiment  you  refer  to — love — 
is  a  sort  of  unknown  emotion." 

She  nodded  her  head  gravely. 

"  Yes,  with  most  of  us.  But  sometimes  I  won- 
der if  we  would  not  be  happier  if  we  believed  as 
the  peasants  do." 

116 


LOVE    IS    LIFE 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  in  front  of  the 
fire  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  immense  pair  of 
antlers  above  the  mantel.  "  Some  are  so  strong, 
so  brave/'  she  mused.  "Better  to  share  life  and 
love  with  the  lowly  and  humble  if  one  could  be 
true." 

"I  am  like  a  bark  without  a  rudder,"  she 
continued.  "I  am  so  restless — so  restless,  and 
all  at  sea!" 

She  looked  at  him,  blushing  furiously  at  her 
admission.  The  firelight  lay  lightly  under  her 
chin,  and  lingered  on  her  finger  tips  and  rosy 
nails. 

"But  then,"  recovering  herself  alertly.  "Love 
is  not  the  only  thing.  If  it  were,  then  a  world 
would  be  well  lost  for  it.  But  I  do  not  under- 
stand it,  captain.  The  women  of  my  world  are 
so  hollow,  so  frivolous,  and  they  make  of  love 
a  mockery.  Bah!  It  makes  me  sick  of  the  very 
sound.  I  loathe  the  base  intrigues  which  are 
sanctioned  in  the  name  of  love  and  marriage. 
I  could  understand  a  woman's  forsaking  all  and 
defying  the  world  for  one  man  if  she  loved  him. 
It  means  something  to  leave  old  traditions,  old 
friends,  everything  for  a  great  love.  It  surely 
takes  a  strong  woman  to  do  that." 

"And  could  you  do  that — if  you  loved  a  man?" 

He  asked  the  question  with  intense  feeling, 
scarce  realizing  what  he  said. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  for  an  instant  all 
117 


THE    KING'S     MESSENGER 

aglow  with  a  dazzling  light.  Oh.  the  fascina- 
tion of  those  eyes  for  him!  There  was  a  tremor 
in  her  voice  when  she  answered. 

"Perchance,  but  I  would  have  to  love  him 
more  than  passing  well." 

Her  mood  was  gay  now,  and  before  he  could 
answer,  she  broke  into  singing,  her  eyes  danc- 
ing, and  an  inexpressible  witchery  in  every  move- 
ment. 

§f* 

"  Oh,  my  dearest, 

Oh,  my  fairest, 
For  thy  favor  I  implore. 

I  will  be 

True  to  thee — 
I  will  love  thee  evermore." 

A  sudden  unreasoning  anger  took  possession 
of  Laville  as  he  listened  to  her.  This  woman, 
was  she  cold  and  frivolous  after  all?  Was  she 
playing  with  him? — She  could  frolic,  she  could 
coquette,  she  could  make  love  eloquent  in  her 
eyes,  but  the  heart  within  her?  Well,  what  of 
it?  Was  she  not  famed  for  her  conquests  over 
there  in  France?  Echoes  of  her  triumphs  jhad 
reached  the  shores  of  Louisiana,  but  all  men ;  ac- 
knowledged the  unattainable  in  her. 

"Your  thoughts,  tell  me — what  are  they?" 
cried  Jeanne,  her  song  ended.  "I  know  they 
must  be  beautiful,  because  they  are  serious." 

"Are  you  ever  serious?" 
118 


LOVE    IS    LIFE 

Jeanne  was  hurt  and  surprised.  Sudden  tears 
came  into  her  eyes.  Laville  inwardly  scourged 
himself.  There  was  heart  and  soul  in  this  wom- 
an ;  passion,  too — a  generous  and  royal  nature. 

"The  rain  has  ceased/'  said  Jeanne,  soberly, 
"  and  the  frogs  are  croaking.  I  think  I  will  go 
home  now,  Captain  Laville." 

A  wave  of  irresponsibility  seemed  to  come 
over  her.  She  felt  as  though  she  were  drifting 
into  some  new  world.  Even  after  Laville  had 
left  her  and  she  was  changing  her  clothes  the 
impression  remained. 

At  last  she  was  ready,  and  Laville  joined  her 
to  escort  her  to  d'Artin's.  As  they  left  the  house 
together  it  seemed  to  both  that  they  had  been 
dreaming,  and  the  cool  evening  air  brought  a 
rude  awakening.  Laville  was  vaguely  conscious 
that  this  hour  would  color  his  life  hereafter.  For 
some  time  they  walked  on  in  silence. 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  happy  I  have 
been,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "but — I  cannot." 

"I  think  I  know.  There  are  some  things  we 
feel  instinctively.  That  is  so  with  me." 

They  went  on  in  the  darkness,  and  Laville 
could  not  see  her  face,  but  he  felt  that  she  spoke 
earnestly. 

"My  sun  sets  to-night,"  he  said,  with  quick 
passion.  "You  have  brought  so  full  a  measure 
of  joy  into  my  life  that  everything  will  seem 
colorless  hereafter." 

119 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"And  you  have  been  a  measure  of  usefulness 
to  me,"  she  said,  quickly  misinterpreting  his 
words,  and  adding  lightly:  "How  could  I  ever 
have  reached  home,  monsieur,  without  your  aid? 
Water  everywhere — one  needs  help  in  the  worst 
places." 

With  a  gesture  of  extreme  weariness,  she 
crowded  the  packet  farther  down  in  the  bosom 
of  her  dress. 

"I  am  beginning  to  learn  many  things  here 
in  Louisiana/'  said  Jeanne,  thoughtfully. 

"And  since  you  came  I  fear  I  have  learned 
the  saddest  and  the  gladdest  lesson  of  my  life." 

Laville  spoke  recklessly,  the  power  of  his  pas- 
sion overcoming  his  discretion,  but  with  a  dreary 
hopelessness. 

She  looked  up  with  a  sudden  swift  smile,  which 
he  felt  rather  than  saw,  but  she  answered  him 
not. 

"Love!"  he  said,  passionately.  "It  is  strong — 
it  is  life,  but,  oh,  mon  Dieu!  they  are  only  fools 
who  say  love  is  happiness — it  is  the  torments  of 
hell." 

"Hush,  my  captain!"  she  said,  in  admonish- 
ment. "The  speech  of  courtiers  becomes  you 
not." 


CHAPTER  IX 
A   WARNING 

AS  the  days  went  slowly  by  in  dreamy  Louisi- 
ana, Laville  became  a  more  frequent  visitor 
at  Antoine  d'Artin's  residence.  The  aristocracy 
of  the  settlement  was  so  small  that  where  one 
went  all  were  congregated,  and  madame's  home 
was  the  centre  of  the  beauty  and  fashion  of  the 
little  colonial  city.  The  amusements  were  of  a 
gay  character,  interspersed  with  much  dancing 
and  music,  and  there  was  none  so  audacious  and 
gay  as  Jeanne,  who  soon  became  the  cynosure 
of  all  eyes,  the  pivot  of  all  social  ceremonies.  In 
the  evenings  every  one  strolled  about  the  streets 
or  found  pleasure  in  sitting  on  the  vine-embow- 
ered galleries,  eating  and  drinking  and  making 
merry  under  the  stars.  Laville  and  Jeanne 
were  often  thrown  together,  at  the  governor's 
levees,  in  church,  at  Madame  d'Artin's.  Every- 
where Jeanne  was  an  object  of  attraction,  with 
her  seductive  graces  and  personal  charm.  She 
wore  the  costliest  gowns  of  fine  satins  and  laces, 
and  when  she  walked  abroad  Celie,  the  slave 
girl,  was  her  faithful  attendant.  The  odor  of 

121 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

rose  and  violet  clung  to  her  garments,  and  at 
every  movement  gave  out  their  sweet  perfume. 
There  was  languid  grace  in  her  carriage,  and 
her  lustrous  green-gray  eyes,  with  the  little  ner- 
vous frown  between  the  eyebrows,  shone  out  ra- 
diantly and  won  the  hearts  of  the  colony.  Peo- 
ple were  divided  in  their  attentions  between  her 
and  Perier,  the  new  governor,  their  curiosity 
often  leading  them  into  indiscretions,  which,  how- 
ever, never  touched  Madame  Poche  with  a  breath 
of  harm. 

There  was  a  ball  at  the  government  house, 
one  evening,  and  Jeanne,  as  usual,  queened  it 
royally. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  who  had  been  absent 
ever  since  Jeanne's  arrival  in  the  colony,  came 
late  to  look  on  for  a  few  moments.  The  old  sol- 
dier had  just  returned  from  Biloxi,  and,  wearing 
his  soiled  uniform,  stood  in  an  obscure  corner  to 
avoid  observation.  He  had  sent  for  Rossart,  and 
the  violins  were  sounding  and  the  dance  in  full 
swing  when  the  chief  of  police  made  his  appear- 
ance. 

"What  news?"  asked  the  old  soldier,  in  a  low 
voice  fraught  with  emotion.  "Has  the  king's 
messenger  come?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Rossart,  cautiously. 
"The  ship  has  come,  but  as  yet  no  despatch." 

"Sang  Dieu!" 

At  that  moment  the  violins  rose  to  a  louder 
122 


A    WARNING 

strain,  and  the  dancers  advanced  and  swept  by 
them  in  their  secluded  corner.  Jeanne  and  La- 
ville  danced  together.  Laville  was  undoubtedly 
the  most  distinguished  looking  man  in  the  room, 
and  Jeanne  the  most  magnificent  among  the 
women.  Laughing,  posturing,  trembling  with 
joy  in  the  dance,  they  courtesied  again  and 
again,  stepping  to  the  rhythm  of  the  stately 
dance  music. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  rubbed  his  brow  in  puz- 
zled bewilderment. 

"Who  is  that  woman?"  he  asked. 

"Madame  Poche.  She  comes  from  France 
alone.  No  other  messenger  was  on  the  ship. 
What  think  you,  old  soldier?" 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  gasped  in  dismay,  and 
Rossart  stepped  back  with  a  diabolical  smile  on 
his  lips. 

"  Morbleu  !   what  does  it  mean?" 

"Think  you  that  the  cardinal  would  entrust 
a  woman  with  the  king's  message?" 

"I  do  not  understand.  You  say  no  mes- 
sage has  come.  Madame  Poche"  is  here,  and 
not  her  husband.  What  think  you  of  it,  Ros- 
sart?" 

"  That  Madame  Poche  may  be  the  king's  mes- 
senger. I  know  not,  but  I  have  reason  to  sus- 
pect it." 

"It  cannot  be,"  said  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos. 
"And  yet  one  never  knows  what  the  cardinal 

123 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

will   do.     How   lovely    she   looks,    Rossart!     It 
seems  but  yesterday  since  I  was  in  France." 

"But  it  is  passing  strange  that  she  should 
come  here  alone,  so  young,  so  attractive,  and 
without  her  husband,"  insinuated  Rossart.  "I 
told  you,  old  soldier,  that  a  lover  must  be  the 
magnet,  and  now  it  looks  as  if  graver  matters 
were  concealed  in  that  haughty  head.  I  fear  that 
it  means  danger  for  us." 

Rossart  smiled  in  scorn  and  watched  the  ef- 
fect of  his  words. 

'"But  how?" 

"See  you  not  that  Laville  is  her  gallant?" 

"Well,  what  of  that?" 

"These  many  weeks  he  has  been  constantly 
at  her  side.  What  if  he  should  know  of  the  de- 
spatch?" 

"It  is  inconceivable,  Rossart;  put  the  foul  sus- 
picion from  your  mind." 

"You  forget,  surely.  Women  will  stop  at 
nothing,  and  this  one  is  the  bravest  of  her  sex, 
and  would  dare  anything  where  she  loved." 

"And  you  have  had  some  experience?"  sug- 
gested the  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  keenly  eying  Ros- 
sart with  no  kindly  expression. 

Rossart  did  not  venture  to  question  the  flat- 
tering sarcasm.  It  did  not  disturb  him  in  the 
least.  The  implication  in  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos's 
speech  made  him  smile,  however. 

"  I  have  always  found  women  pretty  much  like 
124 


A    WARNING 

the  world  in  general — to  be  won  your  way  if  you 
pay  the  price/'  he  answered,  coolly.  "Doubt- 
less Madame  Poche  is  no  exception  to  the  rule." 

"An  unjust  judgment,  my  friend,  and  untrue, 
I  swear." 

His  sense  of  justice  was  aroused,  and  the  in- 
stinct that  inspired  him  to  champion  all  women. 

"The  man  who  stoops  to  meanness  is  apt  to 
believe  that  a  woman  is  capable  of  meanness 
also." 

"You  take  them  too  seriously,"  laughed  Ros- 
sart,  nothing  daunted.  "What  woman  is  worth 
it?  At  best,  they  are  a  necessary  evil,  but  they 
make  the  world  much  too  pleasant  a  place  to  com- 
plain of  them,  and  I,  for  one,  am  not  willing  to 
change  aught  that  makes  life  endurable.  I  have 
never  denied  myself  a  single  pleasure  the  old 
world  could  give,  so  far.  I  shall  not  begin  now." 

He  smiled  coldly,  and  his  eyes  dwelt  covet- 
ously on  Jeanne. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  gave  a  snort  of  disdain 
and  walked  abruptly  away.  Rossart  crossed 
the  room,  and,  seeing  his  opportunity,  he  joined 
Jeanne  in  the  embrasure  of  a  large  window 
where  she  sat  watching  the  dancers.  The  sen- 
suous odor  of  some  lilies  in  a  tall  jar  near  her  per- 
fumed the  atmosphere,  and  Jeanne's  languor  af- 
fected Rossart  as  strangely  in  keeping  with 
the  subtle  fragrance.  As  soon  as  they  were 
alone,  Rossart  gave  a  quick,  searching  glance 

125 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

about,  and  turned  his  eyes  on  Jeanne's  face — 
strange,  sinister  eyes  they  were,  cold  as  steel, 
hawklike  and  gleaming  under  his  beetling 
brows. 

Jeanne  was  dangerously  attractive  to  the  chief 
of  police.  He  had  seen  her  often  during  her  stay 
in  New  Orleans,  and  though  she  had  repulsed 
him  on  every  occasion,  he  persisted  after  each 
rebuff  in  renewing  his  attentions.  He  turned 
upon  her  now  with  a  bold  glance  of  admiration. 

"  My  lady  Jeanne,  you  are  pale  to-night.  Nev- 
ertheless, you  are  more  beautiful  to  me  than  all 
other  women,  and  you  have  more  power  over  me 
than  any  woman  for  good  or  evil." 

The  insulting  warmth  of  his  tones  made  her 
lift  her  head  and  look  at  him  in  amazement. 

"You  forget  yourself,"  she  said,  haughtily. 
"Perhaps  you  also  fail  to  remember  that  I  am 
the  wife  of  a  man  you  call  your  friend." 

He  smiled. 

"What  do  I  care  for  that?  You  are  the  one 
woman  in  the  world  I  want.  I  admire  you — I 
love  you.  I  have  often  told  you  so." 

Jeanne's  eyes  blazed. 

"Stop!"  she  cried,  angrily.  "I  will  not  lis- 
ten." She  rose  and  attempted  to  escape  from 
the  alcove. 

Rossart  stepped  in  front  of  her. 

"Since  when  has  my  lady  Jeanne  grown  so 
punctilious?  In  France  it  was  your  pleasure  to 

126 


A    WARNING 

count  your  victims.     Nothing  can  be  more  strange 
than  your  gentle  ways  of  late." 

She  smiled  disdainfully,  though  the  heart 
within  her  beat  with  sudden  fear. 

"  Do  you  know  that  the  eyes  of  the  whole  com- 
munity are  upon  you?"  he  questioned,  sternly. 

"As  one  arrived  from  the  court  of  France  so 
lately,  it  is  not  strange,"  she  answered,  lightly. 

"And  is  that  the  only  reason,  madame?" 

"Unless  it  be  that  Monsieur  Rossart  makes 
me  conspicuous  by  his  presumptuous  atten- 
tions," she  replied,  scornfully.  "No  gentleman 
would  do  a  lady  such  grave  injustice." 

There  was  no  defiance  in  her  manner,  but  an 
angry  scorn  that  spoke  through  her  flashing  eyes 
and  heaving  bosom. 

His  eyes  travelled  over  her,  and  his  brows  met 
in  a  black  frown. 

"This  thing  must  end,"  he  exclaimed,  fierce- 
ly. "  Madame  Poche,  you  are  playing  with  fire. 
Have  you  learned  to  love  this  soldier,  or  are  you 
using  him  as  a  tool,  as  you  have  used  other  men?" 

"My  affairs  concern  none  but  nryself,"  she 
replied,  without  faltering. 

"They  must — they  shall  concern  me.  I  have 
sworn  it." 

Her  heart  sank,  but  she  forced  a  smile  to  her 
lips. 

"Listen,  my  lady  Jeanne,  I  swear  you  shall 
never  be  anything  to  Julian  Laville." 

127 


THE     KING'S     MESSENGER 

Jeanne's  heart  gave  a  bound,  and  she  turned 
cold  with  fear. 

"  Monsieur  Rossart,  you  insult  me — why,  I  care 
not.  I  do  not  understand  your  insinuations;  I 
have  only  known  this  man  a  few  short  weeks. 
In  that  time  I  have  learned  that  Captain  Laville 
is  what  you  will  never  be — a  gentleman." 

He  reflected  a  moment.  He  had  gone  too  far. 
He  must  not  lose  his  power  over  her. 

"Forgive  me.  Perchance  I  erred,"  he  said, 
humbly.  "It  was  jealousy  that  maddened  me. 
There  is  no  room  in  my  heart  for  anything  but 
you,  and  rather  than  see  another  man  come  be- 
tween us  I  would  kill  him." 

She  started  violently  and  trembled  from  head 
to  foot,  scarce  knowing  why.  What  was  La- 
ville to  her?  She  did  not  know.  Why  should 
she  care  for  his  fate?  Why  imperil  her  honor 
for  him?  Rossart  was  speaking  again. 

"  I  can  strip  this  man  of  every  honor — beggar 
him — send  him  back  to  France  in  disgrace.  All 
this  I  would  do,  and  more,  for  you." 

He  spoke  the  last  wrords  in  a  caressing  tone, 
and  leaned  over  her  shoulder,  looking  down 
upon  her  where  the  diamond  fireflies  glistened 
on  her  white  bosom. 

She  shrank  back  against  the  window-frame. 
She  was  conscious  of  a  deep  desire  to  save  La- 
ville from  harm. 

"Do  your  worst,"  she  muttered,  resolutely. 
128 


A     WARNING 

"Deal  death  or  any  vengeance  you  desire — only 
let  it  fall  on  me  alone.  No  one  else  is  to  blame. 
I  despise  you,  I  loathe  you.  I  never  could  love 
you,  to  the  last  day  of  my  life.  It  is  I — I  alone 
who  defy  you." 

She  rose  from  her  seat  and  stood  confronting 
him  with  a  wild  fire  in  her  eyes. 

"I  have  no  wish  to  hurt  you,  my  lady 
Jeanne/'  said  Rossart,  frightened  for  a  moment 
by  her  vehemence.  "I  only  want  your  love, 
and  I  swear  I  shall  have  it." 

"And  that,  I  repeat,  you  will  never  have.  I 
hate  you!" 

"Beware,  madame.  I  am  an  enemy  not  to  be 
despised.  There  are  other  matters  to  be  in- 
quired into.  The  penalty  of  treason  is  death." 

In  spite  of  her  self-control,  Jeanne's  face 
blanched 

"Ha!  There  are  those  near  the  throne  who 
knew  when  the  king's  messenger  left  France. 
Believe  me,  dear  lady,  it  is  perilous  to  trifle  with 
one  who  has  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  state 
affairs. 

"Then  pray  keep  your  secrets,"  she  retort- 
ed, undaunted.  "I  like  not,  nor  do  I  care  for 
your  threats.  And  remember  this,  though  you 
be  the  chief  of  police,  the  messenger  will  never 
yield  his  message  to  any  but  to  whom  it  is  sent. 
Think  you  his  majesty  the  king  would  send  a 
message  to  you  ?" 

i  129 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

She  laughed  insolently.  He  looked  at  her  and 
smiled  with  the  cruel  sneer  that  was  so  often  on 
his  lips. 

"Continue,  I  am  listening/'  he  said,  covertly. 
"Since  when  did  my  lady  Jeanne  become  my 
judge?" 

"  Since  the  emergency  arose.  Why  are  you  so 
concerned  in  the  king's  will?  Has  the  cardi- 
nal aught  against  you?  Only  traitors,  mon- 
sieur, need  fear  the  penalty  of  treason." 

It  was  a  random  remark,  yet  it  impressed  the 
chief  of  police,  for  he  started  guiltily,  and  for  a 
moment  lost  his  self-control.  He  shuddered,  and 
his  thoughts  recoiled  from  the  picture  Jeanne's 
words  had  raised  so  vividly  in  his  mind. 

There  was  a  tense  silence  between  them  for  a 
moment.  Beads  of  perspiration  stood  on  Ros- 
sart's  forehead.  What  a  hoarse,  metallic  sound 
the  music  from  the  ball  -  room  had  1  He  gasped 
as  if  for  air.  The  shadowy  corner  seemed  to  be- 
come a  place  full  of  dread,  and  he  shuddered 
visibly. 

Jeanne  could  not  understand  Rossart's  change 
of  manner.  It  was  enough  that  in  some  way  she 
had  silenced  him. 

"Monsieur  Rossart,"  she  said,  "will  you  let 
me  pass?" 

Her  words  seemed  to  rouse  him,  and  his  face 
resumed  its  old  mocking. 

"  You  are  easily  deceived,  madame,  if  you  think 
130 


A    WARNING 

you  can  escape  me.  I  swear  I  will  make  you 
suffer  for  this." 

"I  am  not  afraid/'  she  said,  with  an  assur- 
ance she  did  not  feel.  "One  who  uses  your 
weapons  is  like  a  barking  dog.  I  fear  37ou  not." 

As  she  moved  towards  the  outer  room,  he  stole 
quickly  to  her  side  with  a  stealthy,  animal-like 
movement.  His  e3Tes  were  blazing  as  he  whis- 
pered in  her  ear: 

"You  are  suspected,  3Tou  are  watched.  Better 
turn  to  me,  my  lady,  before  it  is  too  late.  I  have 
warned  you." 


CHAPTER  X 
"I    WILL    LOVE   THEE    EVERMORE" 

GOOD-MORNING,  good -morning,  Captain 
Laville." 

The  buoyant,  laughing  tones  rang  merrily  out 
on  the  morning  air. 

Laville  trembled  as  he  heard  the  voice.  He 
looked  around  and  saw  Jeanne  walking  rapidly 
behind  him.  He  suppressed  the  delight  he  felt 
at  seeing  her  and  the  triumph  of  vanity  stirred 
by  her  happy  greeting. 

She  smiled  gayly  as  she  approached,  and  bore 
herself  like  a  young  queen.  Very  tender  was 
her  glance,  and  very  soft  the  expression  of  her 
eyes.  The  sun  shone  on  the  lustre  of  her  un- 
powdered  hair,  loosely  knotted  under  a  large, 
picturesque  hat,  on  the  folds  of  her  morning 
gown  of  daintiest  muslin,  and  on  the  sweet-smell- 
ing rose  at  her  bosom. 

Laville  turned,  and  Jeanne  stepped  forward, 
holding  her  dainty  skirts  from  the  ground. 

"Thank  fortune  that  you  live  on  a  day  like 
this,  my  captain,  and  that  you  find  such  excel- 
lent company  for  a  morning  walk.  Ah,  look 

132 


"I    WILL    LOVE     THEE     EVERMORE" 

how  the  sun  shines!  It  makes  one  glad  to  live. 
Verily,  the  gods  are  good  to  mortals  in  this  land. 
Such  sunshine,  such  air!"  She  laughed  rapt- 
urously. "Think  you  there  is  any  time  more 
beautiful  than  the  spring,  Captain  Laville?  All 
the  world  seems  a  vision  of  bloom.  Look  over 
yonder — in  those  gardens  the  wild  plum  blossoms 
in  such  profusion — and  those  pink  blooms — how 
lovely  is  nature  here  in  this  wilderness!  Oh, 
this  is  indeed  a  world  of  flowers." 

Laville  laughed. 

"What  rapture  you  find  in  nature,"  he  re- 
marked, gravely. 

"Well,  it  is  said  that  God  leads  us  all  by  dif- 
ferent paths.  Mine  goes  through  a  flowery  way, 
I  am  sure,  and  without  the  sun,  monsieur — ah! 
one  could  not  live." 

The  brooding  darkness  that  had  overshadow- 
ed Laville's  face  at  their  meeting  cleared  with 
the  increasing  gladness  of  her  presence. 

'The  sun  always  shines  in  Louisiana,"  he 
said. 

"I  grant  you  that.  Six  weeks  to  a  day  have 
I  been  here  in  this  land  of  perpetual  brightness, 
and  only  one  rainy  day — and,  after  all,  that 
was  not  a  dark  hour."  She  laughed  conscious- 
ly. "  If  climate  has  any  influence  upon  our  nat- 
ures, then  those  who  live  in  Louisiana  should 
continually  radiate  sunshine." 

"  There  are  some  from  France  who  bring  it 
133 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

with  them/'  he  said,  gallantly,  gazing  at  her 
with  earnest  eyes. 

She  looked  up  at  the  tall,  strong  figure  and 
smiled  gladly.  Her  eyes  were  held  by  his  for  a 
moment,  and  then  fell  in  sudden  embarrass- 
ment under  his  sober  gaze. 

"I  .should  like  to  go  to  the  forest/'  she  said, 
eagerly.  "The  gates  are  open  now.  Come, 
Captain  Laville,  will  you  be  my  escort?  I 
have  longed  to  see  those  ancient  woods.  We 
have  heard  of  them  in  France — the  wide-spread- 
ing live-oaks,  the  ghastly  cypresses,  and  the  sun 
shining  over  all.  I  think  the  sunshine  is  best 
of  all.  Is  it  not  the  great  life-giver?  What 
mysteries  it  unfolds  from  the  dark  bosom  of 
earth!" 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  fervently,  "in  my 
mind  I  have  come  to  associate  you  with  flowers 
and  glad  things — a  vine,  a  bud,  a  blossom.  Such 
simple  things  seem  to  give  you  the  deepest  joy." 

Laville  walked  beside  Jeanne,  passing  through 
the  rue  Toulouse  towards  the  woods.  Soon  the 
homes  of  the  colony's  potentates  were  left  be- 
hind, and  the  straggling,  lowly  abodes  on  the 
fringe  of  the  forest.  He  kept  wondering  all  the 
way  why  it  was  that  this  gay -hearted  wom- 
an, this  child  of  luxury,  had  willingly  chosen 
exile.  Her  dainty  muslin  gown,  with  its  pun- 
gent aroma,  seemed  curiously  out  of  place  in 
this  setting,  and  he  looked  ruefully  down  at  his 

134 


"I    WILL     LOVE    THEE     EVERMORE" 

soiled  hose  and  frayed  coat.  For  once  in  his 
life,  the  consciousness  smote  him  that  he  was 
not  looking  his  best. 

"Captain  Laville" — the  voice  startled  him 
from  his  reveries — "please  tell  me — are  you  not 
the  same  Laville  who  was  such  a  stanch  friend 
of  Governor  Bienville?" 

Laville  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"I  must  be  the  man/'  he  replied,  lightly.  "I 
know  of  no  other  of  the  name  in  Louisiana.  I 
was,  and  still  am,  a  friend  of  our  dear  old  ex-gov- 
ernor. The  ambition  of  my  life  is  to  have  him 
reinstated/' 

As  she  walked  beside  him,  her  breath  sudden- 
ly came  hurriedly  through  her  parted  lips.  "  Do 
you  take  an  active  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the 
state  now?"  she  questioned,  eagerly. 

"Why  do  you  ask  that?" 

He  faced  her  almost  rudely,  but  her  eyes  fail- 
ed to  meet  his.  She  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  clasped  her  white  hands. 

"I  have  the  proverbial  woman's  desire  to 
know  things.  But  see,  here  is  the  gate.  I 
suppose  there  are  all  manner  of  horrors  out 
there  in  the  cool,  green  forest — just  as  some- 
times human  beings  have  smiling  faces  and 
wretched  hearts." 

They  passed  through  the  gates  and  down  a 
woodland  path  bordered  on  both  sides  by  palmet- 
toes,  laughing  like  a  couple  of  children.  Every- 

135 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

thing  in  nature  appealed  to  Jeanne's  warm,  ten- 
der temperament.  Though  essentially  a  woman 
bred  in  the  crushing  refinement  of  civilization, 
she  loved  the  tall,  dark  trees,  the  sunshine,  the 
birds,  the  ripples  on  the  water,  the  fall  of  a  leaf, 
and  the  thousand  and  one  sweet  things  born  of 
the  earth  and  air.  When  they  reached  the  en- 
trance to  the  forest,  Laville  spread  some  fra- 
grant boughs  on  the  ground  under  the  shade 
of  a  live-oak,  and  threw  himself  on  the  grass 
at  Jeanne's  feet. 

"Are  you  one  of  the  soldiers  now?"  asked 
Jeanne,  when  they  had  been  seated  a  few  mo- 
ments. "I  think  Luce  once  said  that  you  be- 
longed to  the  governor's  guard.  It  seems  as 
though  you  men  spent  your  days  in  idleness  in 
times  of  peace.  We  hear  of  your  doing  nothing 
all  day  long  but  gambling  and  drinking.  Have 
you  no  ambition?" 

She  seemed  very  earnest  as  she  asked  the 
question,  with  bent  head  and  slender,  white  fin- 
gers clasping  and  unclasping  in  her  lap. 

"Madame  Poche,"  he  said,  gravely,  mentally 
recounting  the  longings  of  his  heart,  the  dreams 
and  ambitions  of  the  soldier,  "  I  know  you  think 
us  a  wild,  rough  lot,  but  we  have  our  aspira- 
tions. I  hoped  once  to  stand  high  in  our  be- 
loved Louisiana,  but  with  Bienville  gone  and 
with  Peiier  in  power — who  is  no  friend  of  ours, 
though  possibly  upright  in  his  relations  with 

136 


"I     WILL     LOVE     THEE     EVERMORE" 

Fleury — what  is  likely  to  become  of  our  vaunted 
civilization?  Better  to  drift  with  the  tide  than 
to  defy  fate.  When  the  issue  comes,  its  scenes 
will  be  bloody,  and  God  knows  Louisiana  will 
need  the  sword  and  brain  of  every  patriot.  Mean- 
wrhile  I  stand  and  wait,  defensive,  and,  it  may 
be  at  times,  offensive,  but  with  no  pangs  of  self- 
reproach." 

"But  you  could  do  much;  you  are  so  brave." 

He  bent  his  head,  noting  the  dainty  poise  of 
her  slender  ankles  as  she  lifted  her  skirt.  "  I 
do  not  know  why  it  is,"  he  confessed,  slowly, 
"but  somehow  I  feel  inclined  to  talk  to  you  of 
my  affairs.  I  have  never  cared  to  speak  to  any 
woman  about  myself." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked, 
with  an  eager  interest  in  her  question. 

He  paused  a  moment.  Then,  with  the  grand 
air  of  a  cavalier  of  old  France,  he  answered : 

"Pin  my  faith  to  my  country.  Affairs  are 
even  now  shaping  themselves.  If  we  can  have 
Bienville  restored,  a  new  era  will  begin  for  Loui- 
siana and  her  friends.  Our  present  governor  is 
merely  a  tool.  Cardinal  Fleury  shapes  all  means 
to  his  ends.  We  are  not  the  loyal  royalists  of 
old,  and  if  Bienville  should  be  returned  to  us, 
then  to  the  devil  with  the  king  and  his  minis- 
ters." 

She  started  and  uttered  a  hurried  exclamation 
of  dissent. 

137 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"Oh,  don't  speak  in  that  way.  Some  one 
might  hear  you." 

He  saw  her  press  her  hand  to  her  side  and 
crowd  something  in  her  bosom  behind  the  folds 
of  her  kerchief.  He  felt  strangely  agitated  for 
a  moment.  The  blood  leaped  through  his  veins 
like  torrents  of  fire. 

"You  seem  disturbed,"  he  said,  quietly.  "Tell 
me,  do  you  really  care  for  my  welfare?" 

She  met  his  gaze  with  bright,  moist  eyes,  and 
drew  her  breath  in  momentary  relief. 

"  I  am  not  indifferent.  Let  me  be  your  friend. 
It  is  my  turn  now.  Did  you  not  save  me  from 
those  ruffians?" 

"It  is  an  honor  never  to  be  forgotten  to  have 
done  you  even  so  slight  a  service." 

She  laughed,  but  he  fancied  the  nervous  little 
trill  sounded  bitter,  and  sitting  close  to  her,  so 
close  that  her  sleeve  almost  touched  him,  with 
the  gentle  air  blowing  the  tendrils  of  brown  hair 
against  her  neck,  he  could  see  the  heaving  of 
her  bosom  and  feel  the  warmth  of  her  emotion. 

"Let  me  see  your  hand  a  moment,"  she  said, 
to  hide  her  embarrassment.  "I  am  something 
of  a  fortune-teller,  and  I  can  read  the  lines  in 
your  palm.  An  old  soothsayer  taught  me  long 
ago." 

"  Are  you  a  daughter  of  the  stars?  You  know 
the  old  legend  goes  that  the  love  of  such  a  woman 
is  fatal." 

138 


"I   WILL     LOVE     THEE     EVERMORE" 

"I  did  not  say  anything  about  the  stars,"  she 
said,  quickly.  "I  think  I  am  rather  akin  to  the 
sun.  But  give  me  your  hand,  and  I  will  tell 
you  of  your  lady-love,  and  whether  she  be  dark 
or  fair. " 

"I  can  see  her  now,  God  pity  me!"  he  said  to 
himself,  "and  she  is  fair,  with  brown  hair  and 
green-gray  eyes." 

She  took  the  brown  palm  in  hers  with  a  merry 
laugh.  Suddenly,  as  she  studied  the  lines,  the 
laughter  died  in  her  throat. 

"Is  it  a  good  hand — I  mean  a  strong  one?"  he 
asked. 

She  turned  her  head  and  shook  it  slightly, 
with  a  gesture  of  dissent. 

'There  is  truly  some  good  in  your  hand." 

"But  you  must  tell  me.  What  do  you  see 
there,  sorceress?" 

"You  will  love  unwisely,"  she  said,  with  con- 
straint. 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  face,  and  he  glanced 
up  at  her  with  a  hopeless  longing  in  his  eyes. 

"You  gypsy!"  he  cried,  impetuously.  "Your 
words  are  only  too  true;  I  fear — I  think  I  see 
my  fate  already  before  me.  Are  you  indeed  a 
sorceress  come  out  of  France  to  take  us  all  in 
bonds?" 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  disdainfully  and 
flung  his  hand  from  her. 

"I  hate  that  sort  of  thing/'  she  said,  indig- 
139 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

nantly.  "  I  have  liked  you  so  much  because  you 
seemed  so  different  from  all  other  men  I  have 
known.  I  despise  flattery.  I  thought  you  sincere, 
and  now  you  disappoint  me." 

"  It  is  as  I  thought — as  I  knew/'  he  interrupted ; 
"I  am  afraid  to  tell  you  anything.  You  have 
heard  so  much  about  yourself  from  others  that 
when  I  speak  truth  you  call  it  flattery." 

There  was  a  certain  honest  seeming  about  his 
manner  and  speech  that  convinced  her.  She 
turned  to  him,  took  his  hand  again,  and  studied 
it  critically  for  a  moment. 

"I  can  read  other  things  in  your  palm,"  she 
went  on,  ignoring  his  words.  "If  you  will  lis- 
ten, I  will  try  to  tell  you  what  they  are." 

"I  am  listening,  madame." 

"You  are  masterful.  You  want  your  own 
way,  but  you  are  not  selfish.  You  are  bold." 

"  I  always  wanted  the  best  the  world  can  give, 
and,  mon  Dieu!"  he  cried,  with  sudden  fire,  "I 
mean  to  have  it." 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  masterful  captain!  There 
are  things  that  may  conquer  you  yet — a  woman's 
will,  a  woman's  wray.  There  is  much  strength 
in  weakness  sometimes,  and  more  to  be  dreaded 
in  a  woman's  eyes  than  in  the  strongest  battery 
ever  made  by  man — so  the  wise  ones  of  the  world 
tell  us." 

'They  make  this  world  perfect  for  us — that 
is,  some  women." 

140 


"I     WILL     LOVE     THEE     EVERMORE" 

Jeanne  laughed,  slightly  embarrassed  at  his 
warmth,  and  drew  her  hand  away.  A  change 
came  over  Laville's  face  which  she  did  not  fail 
to  notice.  He  studied  the  grass  at  her  feet  in 
silence,  distraught  in  mind. 

"You  are  right.  God  knows  there  are  men —  ; 
a  few  poor  fools — who  would  sell  their  soul  to  see 
what  they  long  for  in  the  eyes  of  some  woman. 
Strong  men  are  weaker  than  the  world  knows." 
Then,  after  a  pause,  "I  have  a  notion,  madame," 
he  said,  turning  to  the  tree  against  which  she 
leaned,  "  to  cut  your  initials  in  this  bark,  so  that 
in  the  years  to  come  any  one  wandering  this  way 
may  see  what  is  carved  thereon.  J —  that's  for 
Jeanne,  the  most  bewitching  little  siren  that  ever 
left  France  to  win  the  hearts  of  men  in  this  strange 
land  of  Louisiana.  These  letters  will  be  here 
long  after  we  are  gone/'  he  went  on,  as  he 
carved  her  initials  in  the  bark  of  the  live-oak. 
"So  much  of  our  lives  will  be  together,  at  least," 
he  said,  fiercely,  without  once  glancing  at  her. 

"I  must  forgive  your  shameless  jests,  I  sup- 
pose," she  said,  laughing  lightly  and  trying  to 
avoid  his  meaning.  "Now  cut  your  initials 
also.  There — it  really  looks  like  the  work  of  a 
pair  of  rural  lovers — J  and  J — how  romantic!" 

Her  large,  limpid  eyes,  changing  from  gray 
to  green  with  every  emotion,  smiled  and  then 
looked  sad. 

"You  have  the  siren's  eyes,"  he  said,  looking 
141 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

at  her.  "First  brown,  then  gray,  then  green. 
One  could  never  stake  much  on  their  color, 
with  their  variations.  Who  ever  heard  of  any- 
one but  an  enchantress  or  a  siren  having  such 
eyes?" 

"You  forget/  she  said,  mischievously,  "there 
is  the  cat." 

She  leaned  against  the  tree,  with  her  gaze 
fixed  on  the  blue  space  overhead,  softly  striking 
her  lips  with  the  long-stemmed  crimson  rose  from 
her  bodice. 

"Will  you  let  me  call  you  Jeanne?"  he  asked, 
suddenly.  "  I  confess  I  do  not  like  the  name  for 
you.  It  is  very  inappropriate,  but  it  is  less  for- 
mal than  Madame  Poche." 

"Why?"  she  asked,  laughing  tremulously. 

The  laughter  faded  from  her  eyes  and  lips  as 
she  looked  at  him.  He  was  deathly  pale,  and 
there  was  a  strange  excitement  in  his  face. 

"It  does  not  fit  you,"  he  said,  with  suppressed 
emotion.  "In  my  heart  I  call  you  sweetheart. 
Let  me  kiss  your  hand.  That  is  the  homage  a 
subject  pays  his  sovereign." 

Her  eyes  filled  with  sudden  fear  and  surprise. 
Then  she  turned  her  proud  face  to  him  in  con- 
temptuous anger. 

"Captain  Laville,  is  this  gallant?" 

She  sat  up  with  proud  erectness,  her  face  still 
turned  from  him. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  entreated,  "There  are  emo- 
143 


"I     WILL     LOVE    THEE     EVERMORE" 

tions  that  lash  one's  soul  to  a  tumult  at  times 
and  make  one  forget.  I  fear  to  offend  you.  With 
any  other  woman  the  asking  would  have  been 
the  taking.  With  you  it  is  different.  I  want 
you  to  think  well  of  me.  Forgive  me,  Jeanne. 
I  swear  I  meant  no  offence.  I  will  never  take 
advantage  of  your  friendship,  I  promise.  Ask 
your  own  heart  if  there  are  not  times  when  strong 
emotions  sway  us  beyond  control." 

"You  are  very  generous,"  she  said,  with  sar- 
casm. 

"Jeanne,"  he  cried,  pleadingly,  "I  have  never 
wanted  a  friend  as  I  have  since  I  knew  you.  You 
have  inspired  a  desire  hardly  acknowledged  to 
myself.  In  spite  of  your  coldness,  I  think  you 
are  my  friend.  If  you  could  understand  me,  you 
would  know  that  my  regard  for  you  is  the  purest 
inspiration  of  my  life — possibly  a  worthless 
life,"  he  added,  bitterly.  "And  if  you  were  a 
free  woman,  I  would  make  you  listen  to  me  and 
believe  in  me.  As  it  is,  personal  sacrifice  and 
endurance  make  up  our  lives."  He  waited  a 
moment  and  then  rose.  "  May  I  escort  you  back 
to  the  settlement?" 

The  glory  of  the  bright  day  had  faded.  Jeanne 
rose  from  her  green  throne  on  the  fragrant  boughs 
and  turned  her  face  homeward.  They  were  both 
strangely  subdued,  both  conscious,  in  a  vague 
way,  of  the  coming  conflict.  The  waving  trees, 
the  bright  sunshine,  the  flecking  vistas  of  Span- 

143 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

ish  moss,  the  insect  hum  and  stir,  and  the  bus- 
tle of  woodland  life  failed  to  awaken  any  re- 
sponse in  Jeanne.  Somehow  she  felt  that  an 
ideal  had  been  shattered.  She  had  thought 
herself  happy,  away  off  there  in  France,  in  that 
old  life  whose  problems  had  been  accepted  as  the 
traditions  of  previous  generations.  Poche  had 
been  a  cold-blooded,  heartlessly  selfish  hus- 
band; in  a  girlish  way  she  had  accepted  the 
fact  of  her  marriage  with  him.  But  now  — 
there  were  hidden  depths  in  Laville's  nature 
that  she  had  never  found  in  her  husband. 
Other  men  in  the  dissolute  French  capital,  after 
the  manner  in  vogue  at  the  gay  court,  had 
made  love  to  her,  but  she  had  laughed  them 
down  and  treated  it  all  with  disdain.  Now,  ah ! 
now,  it  all  seemed  different. 

"You  are  not  offended?"  asked  Laville,  anx- 
iously, when  they  reached  d'Artin's  and  had 
passed  through  the  wicket  between  the  rose- 
walls.  "Never  did  knight  hold  lady  in  higher 
regard  than  I  do  you.  I  can  suffer  for  you,  I 
would  die  for  you.  You  are  the  one  woman  in 
all  the  world  to  me." 

She  raised  her  hand  entreatingly  and  turned 
to  him  in  weary  wistfulness.  Suddenly,  from 
the  gallery,  came  the  sound  of  Madame  d'Ar- 
tin's  lute,  and  her  voice,  sweet,  vibrant,  sing- 
ing the  old  French  love  song  that  Jeanne  liked 
so  well — 

144 


"I    WILL     LOVE     THEE     EVERMORE" 

"  Oh,  my  dearest, 

Oh,  my  fairest, 
For  thy  favor  I  implore. 

I  will  be 

True  to  thee  — 
I  will  love  thee  evermore." 

They  felt  drawn  to  each  other  by  an  uncom- 
prehending force.  The  old  love  song  thrilled 
the  air,  and  intensified  the  harmony  that  knit 
their  souls  together  in  a  strange  fate. 

"  You  have  learned  something  to-day,  Jeanne/' 
he  said,  under  his  breath. 

"And  you  too/'  she  repeated. 

They  paused  a  moment,  with  the  song  still 
vibrating  in  their  ears.  Jeanne  made  effort  to 
speak,  but  her  voice  failed  her.  He  stepped 
closer  to  her,  and  tried  to  see  her  face,  but  she 
kept  it  averted  from  him. 

"What  is  it,  Jeanne?" 

He  spoke  breathlessly,  almost  afraid  to  break 
the  spell.  She  answered  so  low  he  could  scarce- 
ly hear. 

"I  believe  in  you,  but  do  not  speak  to  me; 
do  not  look  at  me.  I  want  to  be  true — to  be 
loyal!" 

"Do  not  be  so  grave/'  he  implored.  "I  know 
that  I  am  in  danger  of  losing  your  friendship, 
but  there  are  times  when  the  devil  tempts  us 
all,  and  we  utter  sentiments  that  should  not 
be  spoken.  The  shifting  uncertainties  of  this 

K  145 


THE    KING'S     MESSENGER 

world  make  us  long  to  grasp  the  little  that  seems 
to  come  within  our  grasp.  If  we  dared — " 

She  interrupted  him  quickly. 

"Captain  Laville,  I — I  am — your  friend/'  She 
started  to  walk  rapidly.  "I  have  lately  come, 
from  the  court.  I  know  what  is  said.  My  hus- 
band is  Cardinal  Fleury's  friend."  The  bushes 
caught  her  skirts  and  tore  them.  "Don't,  I  be- 
seech you,  speak  about  the  king  as  you  did  to- 
day. Believe  me,  I  know/' 

She  was  strangely  excited.  Something  wild 
and  clamorous  in  her  nature  warned  her  not  to 
look  at  him.  Suddenly  it  came  to  Laville  that 
she  was  acting  as  the  king's  emissary  and  seek- 
ing to  corrupt  his  allegiance  to  Bienville. 

"So!  You  would  convert  me  to  the  cardi- 
nal's way  of  thinking?"  he  cried,  hoarsely.  "I 
might  have  known.  What  do  you  care?  What 
is  one  man  to  you  more  than  another  except  as  a 
step  in  a  woman's  ambition?  Mon  Dieu,  you 
are  all  alike!  We  are  all  tools  or  playthings  to 
one  like  you.  Life  in  this  wilderness  is  sad 
enough  at  best,  but  there  are  things  that  make 
it  sadder." 

Her  face  flushed,  her  heart  failed  her,  and  all 
in  an  instant  the  light  and  joy  seemed  to  have 
died  out  of  the  world. 

"I  will  be 

True  to  thee — 
I  will  love  thee  evermore." 
146 


"1    WILL     LOVE     THEE    EVERMORE" 

Again  the  plaintive  old  love  melody  came 
floating  down  the  garden  to  them. 

They  paused  with  averted  heads.  That  da}7 
had  brought  them  nothing,  but  instinctively 
both  realized  something  had  gone  from  them, 
something  that  never  would  come  back — the  old 
peace,  the  quiet  of  ignorance. 

"Good-b3re,  Captain  Laville.  This  has  been  a 
lovely  morning."  She  did  not  hold  out  her 
hand,  but  her  eyes  were  moist. 

"Not  good-bye  yet,"  he  pleaded,  wistfully. 
"Forgive  me.  I  was  mad  a  moment  ago.  See, 
madame  beckons  to  me  from  the  doorway.  Shall 
I  go?  Do  3Tou  wish  me  to  leave?" 

"Nay,  not  if  you  wish  to  stay." 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  SIEUR  DE  GLAUCOS   IS  BAFFLED 

JEANNE  and  Laville  found  Madame  d'Artin 
waiting  for  them  in  the  doorway.  She  was 
dressed  extravagantly,  as  was  her  custom,  and 
wore  her  patches  and  paint  with  quite  a  grand 
air.  Her  lute  was  still  in  her  hands. 

"Oh,  Jeanne!"  she  cried,  with  unusual  ex- 
citement, when  they  reached  her  side,  'we  could 
not  imagine  where  you  had  gone.  Celie  said  she 
saw  you  pass  towards  the  western  gate.  You 
must  be  more  careful.  Antoine  says  the  Ind- 
ians are  growing  restless  and  offensive  again.  I 
wras  so  worried  lest  something  had  happened." 

"  Nothing  can  happen  to  me  from  that  source 
while  Bras  Pique  lives.  You  know  I  have  a 
faithful  ally  in  her,"  said  Jeanne,  confidently. 
Her  heart  was  happy.  She  had  forgotten  her 
late  sally  with  Laville. 

"There  is  no  cause  for  alarm,"  Laville  as- 
sured them.  "Yesterday  a  band  of  Choctaws 
were  found  wandering  in  our  streets,  and  sev- 
eral incendiary  fires  had  to  be  extinguished. 
Otherwise  everything  seems  perfectly  safe.  Cho- 

148 


THE    SIEUR    DE   GLAUCOS    IS    BAFFLED 

part  has  had  some  difficulty  at  Fort  Rosalie,  but 
I  do  not  think  we  need  apprehend  any  danger." 

"The  holy  Virgin  forbid!"  said  madame,  pious- 
ly crossing  herself. 

Jeanne  sat  down  on  the  top  step,  while  La- 
ville  loitered  near.  It  was  a  t3Tpical  Louisiana 
day,  filled  with  sunshine  and  pleasant  odors. 
The  whole  landscape  was  one  of  harmonious 
greens  and  grajTs — the  neutral  clouds  hovering 
over  the  levee,  the  river  beyond,  the  long,  straight 
roads,  the  perspective  of  ditches,  the  Place 
d'Armes,  where  figure  after  figure  passed  and 
repassed  and  flung  a  cheery  greeting  to  the  gay 
New  Orleans  world. 

"Jeanne,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  said  madame, 
with  a  sudden  mischievous  look.  'There's  a 
letter  from  your  husband.  It  came  to-day.  A 
soldier  from  Biloxi  brought  it  from  the  ship  that 
arrived  there  last  week." 

Jeanne  was  chatting  amiably  with  Laville. 
Suddenly  she  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands 
in  her  silken  lap  when  madame  spoke.  She 
breathed  with  a  sort  of  pained  ecstasy.  Some- 
thing had  happened.  Her  husband  was  com- 
ing. No,  that  could  not  be.  She  felt  alarmed, 
and  almost  trembled  when  she  took  the  letter 
from  madame.  All  her  courage  and  hope  were 
gone,  and  for  one  thoughtless,  unashamed  mo- 
ment she  turned  her  impassioned  eyes  full  upon 
Laville,  who  was  regarding  her  with  jealous 

149 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

scrutiny.  He  could  help  her.  Ah,  the  rapt- 
ure of  that  moment!  Her  face  grew  radiant, 
but  almost  instantly  it  changed.  With  shame, 
with  remorse,  she  realized  her  disloyalty. 

"Captain  Laville,"  she  said,  with  an  inde- 
scribable mingling  of  mirth  and  humility  in  her 
voice  and  manner,  "a  wife's  duty  is  to  her  hus- 
band. I  must  read  my  letter  at  once.  Pray 
excuse  me." 

She  laughed  brightly.  All  her  gay  grace  of 
manner  seemed  to  have  returned.  Then  she 
went  up-stairs  to  her  chamber.  The  room  was 
dark,  for  the  shutters  were  closed.  Jeanne 
threw  them  open,  and  let  in  a  flood  of  sunlight. 
It  was  a  large  chamber  with  two  windows  and 
a  fireplace  at  one  end,  scrupulously  clean,  be- 
traying the  refined  taste  of  a  dainty  woman. 
A  roomy  bed,  with  an  immense  canopy  draped 
with  flowered  silk,  stood  against  the  wall,  and 
Jeanne  sank  down  at  the  foot  and  tore  her  letter 
open  with  a  shiver.  She  read : 

"DEAR  JEANNE, — It  is  now  some  weeks  since  you 
left  France.  I  know  you  must  be  safe  with  Antoine  and 
Luce  ere  this,  although  I  have  received  no  letter  as  yet. 

"  I  trust  you  have  delivered  the  king's  despatch.  It  was 
a  mark  of  favor  that  you  should  have  been  selected  as  the 
bearer,  and  may  mean  great  things  for  me,  your  husband ; 
and  yet  sometimes  I  wish  on  my  soul  I  knew  the  contents  of 
the  message.  Fleury  is  a  grim  counsellor,  and,  mark  you, 
when  I  asked  to  be  sent  instead  of  you,  he  was  utterly  un- 
movable. 

ISO 


THE    SIEUR    DE    GLAUCOS   IS    BAFFLED 

"  If  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  is  not  in  New  Orleans  when  you 
arrive,  guard  the  despatch  as  if  your  life  depended  on  it 
until  he  comes.  The  king  will  brook  no  mistake,  and  to  the 
Sieur  de  Glaucos,  and  him  only,  must  you  give  the  message, 
unless,  as  may  be  the  case,  another  has  the  password.  A 
mistake  may  undo  me.  Remember  you  are  surrounded 
by  the  enemies  of  France.  I  am  under  the  impression  that 
the  despatch  contains  instructions  regarding  one  of  our 
country's  foes — a  certain  Captain  Laville.  The  despatch 
may  mean  his  recall  to  France  and  probable  death,  as 
becomes  a  traitor." 

Jeanne  stood  up  at  that,  with  her  head  thrown 
back  and  her  breath  coming  in  gasps  through 
her  parted  lips.  Her  hand  clutched  her  bosom 
where  tr^e  packet  lay. 

"No  one  knows  I  have  it,"  she  said.  "Only 
Rossart  suspects.  Oh,  thank  God!  thank  God! 
the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  was  gone  so  long.  Why 
give  up  the  despatch — a  life — his  life." 

She  could  hear  Laville  laugh.  The  deep  bary- 
tone voice  floated  on  the  breeze.  Ah,  how  she 
was  thrilled  by  that  tone!  Every  intonation  set 
her  pulses  throbbing.  It  was  as  if  her  own  death 
sentence  had  been  written  in  that  letter.  Full 
of  regret  for  the  past,  dissatisfied,  desperate,  she 
would  have  given  up  life  at  that  moment  to  undo 
it  all. 

"Alas,  alas!  how  powerless  to  struggle  against 
the  forces  that  bind  one!" 

A  spot  of  crimson  burned  in  each  cheek.  She 
laughed  nervously  as  her  large  eyes  travelled 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

about  the  room,  and  suddenly  met  her  image  in 
the  mirror.  The  fixed  gaze  was  that  of  a  poor, 
hunted  creature.  Shapes  rose  before  her  in  long 
array — shapes  that  peopled  her  happy  child- 
hood, her  brief  girlhood,  and  careless  wifehood. 
She  could  see  herself  once  more  the  idol  of  the 
court,  the  gay  coquette.  She  could  feel  her 
blood  move  quicker  through  her  veins.  Her 
limbs  shook. 

"I  can  do  it,"  she  murmured.  "No  one  will 
ever  know.  It  will  be  nothing  to  my  husband, 
and  it  will  save  Captain  Laville." 

She  turned  her  haggard  eyes  from  the  mir- 
ror, afraid  of  the  anguish  and  terror  she  saw 
there.  "Alone,  friendless — a  woman!"  she  mur- 
mured, pacing  the  floor.  "  Holy  Virgin  Mother, 
to  be  so  helpless!"  Ah,  if  all  the  fine  people 
of  her  world  could  know  all — know  that  she, 
the  gentle  born,  the  proud  woman  of  the  court 
of  France,  loved  this  soldier  of  fortune  more 
than  her  life!  But  she  was  glad  they  would 
never  know.  That  should  be  buried  deep  in 
her  own  rebellious  heart.  They  would  never 
dream,  when  she  went  back  to  France,  that  the 
best  of  her  life  was  left  in  these  Louisiana  woods 
— the  dearest  treasure  of  her  heart,  the  only  love 
of  all  her  life. 

She  seemed  to  have  sat  there  a  long  time  when 
she  heard  Laville  bid  madame  good-morning. 
She  bounded  across  the  room  and  looked  wist- 

152 


THE  SIEUR    DE    GLAUCOS    IS    BAFFLED 

fully  at  the  tall  figure  walking  rapidly  down 
the  rose-bordered  walk,  his  head  and  shoulders 
thrown  back  with  superb  grace.  She  stretched 
out  her  arms  imploringly.  She  saw  him  close 
the  little  wicket  after  him.  He  was  gone,  and 
in  an  instant  the  world  became  empty  and  dark. 
She  closed  her  eyes  and  dropped  her  arms  to  her 
sides  and  went  slowly  away  from  the  window. 
She  felt  faint  and  tired.  Kneeling,  she  laid  her 
head  on  the  table. 

"  Everything  is  sad, ' '  she  moaned.  "  The  clouds 
that  darken  my  horizon  fill  me  with  hopeless- 
ness. Oh,  God!  I  am  overwhelmed.  What  is 
the  use  of  life  and  love  ?" 

She  paced  up  and  down  the  floor  of  the  great 
chamber,  now  pausing  near  the  window,  where 
she  caught  a  glimpse  of  Laville  passing  beyond 
the  market  and  into  the  rue  St.  Anne,  and  now 
hovering  over  the  fire,  trembling  and  shivering 
as  if  stricken  with  a  chill.  All  at  once  her  quick 
ear  caught  the  sound  of  some  one  coming  up  the 
stairs.  Then  there  was  a  tapping  on  the  door; 
the  latch  was  lifted,  and  Celie,  the  negress,  pushed 
it  open  and  announced  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos. 

Jeanne  looked  at  her  with  troubled  eyes  and 
actually  laughed.  The  Sieur  de  Glaucos!  What 
did  he  want?  Where  was  he?  When  did  he 
come  back?  How  did  he  know  she  was  there? 
Oh,  yes,  the  letter.  Directly  she  would  go  down 
Tell  him  to  wait. 

153 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"It  has  come,  it  has  come/'  she  moaned,  with 
palpitating  heart.  She  felt  so  strange,  so  afraid 
— she,  Jeanne  Poche,  who  had  never  been  afraid 
of  any  living  creature.  She  hurriedly  changed 
her  dress  for  one  more  befitting  the  occasion. 
"You  will  help  me  to  be  beautiful,  Celie,"  she 
said  to  the  negress.  "  The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  has 
been  in  France  not  so  long  ago  that  he  has  for- 
gotten how  women  ought  to  look.  He  used  to 
know  me  there.  Now  brush  out  my  hair.  See, 
without  the  powder  it  is  like  sunshine.  My  head 
aches.  I  am  pale.  Here,  put  a  pink  rose  in  my 
bodice."  She  touched  the  negress  on  the  arm 
with  a  furtive  caress.  "  I  am  thankful.  Every- 
thing is  right  now."  She  turned  from  the  mir- 
ror, a  radiant  vision  in  lavender,  with  only  the 
faintest  rose  color  in  her  cheeks  and  the  fatal 
packet  over  her  heart. 

She  descended  the  stairs  slowly,  followed  by 
Celie,  as  became  a  lady  of  quality,  and  went  for- 
ward indifferently  to  meet  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos. 
A  change  came  over  the  old  soldier's  face  when 
he  greeted  her.  He  was  not  quick  of  wit  nor 
versed  in  social  usages,  and  for  a  time  he  was 
dazed  by  the  splendid  vision.  Captivating,  smil- 
ing, the  scent  of  her  garments  haunting  his 
senses,  she  met  him  with  uplifted  eyes  and  un- 
questioning frankness.  He  had  fancied  this 
meeting  time  and  time  again,  dreading,  yet 
longing,  to  see  Jeanne. 

154 


THE    SIEUR    DE    GLAUCOS    IS    BAFFLED 

She  slightly  lifted  her  silk  skirt  with  graceful 
ease,  and  swept  him  a  low  bow. 

"Ah,  madame!"  he  said,  kissing  her  white 
hand,  "I  forget  the  lapse  of  years  when  I  see 
you,  and  try  to  think  I  am  3Toung  again." 

"Upon  my  word,  it  is  inhuman  to  remind  me 
that  it  is  five  years  at  least  since  the  Sieur  de 
Glaucos  was  last  in  France." 

"That  gives  you  fewer  pangs  than  me,"  he 
returned,  gallantly.  "It  is  a  longer  way  off  to 
you  than  to  me.  Time  is  a  rapid  messenger  to 
the  old." 

She  motioned  him  to  a  seat  and  settled  herself 
close  beside  a  window  where  the  sunlight  stream- 
ed across  her  hair,  bringing  out  the  red  glints 
in  the  brown  and  adding  lustre  to  the  green 
lights  in  her  eyes. 

"I  have  it  that  madame  has  lately  come  from 
France,  and  the  dazzling  picture  of  her  social 
triumphs  is  in  my  mind." 

She  met  his  glance  boldly,  with  the  fearless 
look  of  a  child. 

"Full  six  weeks  since  the  ship  arrived." 

"A  brave  woman,  by  our  Lady,  to  venture  so 
far  alone." 

"And  does  it  seem  to  you  so  far  away?"  her 
voice  faltered. 

"Yes,  for  a  woman  so  young  and  beautiful 
to  come  unattended." 

"I  suppose  I  am  a  daring  woman,"  she  said, 
155 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

with  flashing  eyes.  "My  husband  is  a  soldier, 
and  a  courtier.  As  such  he  is  absent  much,  and 
I  might  as  well  be  here  as  there.  We  are  not  al- 
ways together.  Then  I  had  the  ambition  for  a 
long  time  to  visit  Louisiana  and  see  once  more 
my  cousin  Antoine.  In  these  times,  women  as  well 
as  men  have  their  eccentricities,  and  experience 
teaches  us  that  even  a  bright  woman  requires 
change.  I  aspire  at  least  to  be  that." 

"Then,  by  my  faith/'  he  exclaimed,  enthusi- 
astically, "  you  should  be  a  royal  envoy  and  come 
in  the  king's  name." 

Every  shade  of  anxiety  seemed  to  vanish  from 
Jeanne.  "Oh,  monsieur!"  she  cried,  raising  her 
hands  with  a  little  forbidding  gesture. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  never  dreamed  that  her 
whole  soul,  all  her  strength,  was  absorbed  in 
throwing  him  off  his  guard  Regret,  at  first, 
in  failing  to  secure  the  despatch  now  gave 
place  to  a  hope  that  Jeanne  was  not  the  bearer. 
Women  ought  not  to  be  burdened  with  such 
grave  matters.  He  liked  her  gracious,  joyous 
mood. 

"Was  it  truly  only  the  love  of  novelty  that 
brought  you  into  our  lonely  country?" 

There  was  an  almost  fearful  anxiety  in  his 
question. 

Jeanne  threw  herself  about  between  the  pillows 
on  the  divan  in  the  most  fascinating  attitudes, 
but  under  her  lavender  bodice  her  heart  beat 

156 


THE    SIEUR   DE    GLAUCOS    IS    BAFFLED 

violently.     She  laughed  carelessly,  and  the  brave 
light  in  her  eyes  was  not  quenched. 

"  Yes,  I  love  novelty  well  enough  even  to  dare 
that/'  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  carried  convic- 
tion. "  My  husband  was  coming,  too,  but  it  was 
impossible  at  the  last  moment,  and  so  I  came  over 
on  the  ship  with  the  nuns/' 

"And  his  affair,  what  did  he  do  about  that?" 
he  demanded,  so  suddenly  as  almost  to  take  her 
breath  away. 

Jeanne  did  not  like  deceit.  This  was  her  first 
experience  in  strategy,  and  it  gave  her  a  shock 
to  see  the  fierce  expression  in  the  Sieur  de  Glau- 
cos's  burning  eyes.  He  turned  suspiciously 
towards  her  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  words. 

She  laughed  nervously;  a  sob  escaped  from 
her  overcrowded  heart. 

"  In  the  king's  name,  madame,  does  that  mean 
aught  to  you?  There  is  a  grave  matter  between 
us,  I  fear." 

Jeanne  smiled  brilliantly,  with  an  abrupt 
change  in  her  manner.  She  had  evidently  dis- 
played too  mucljkinterest.  Immediately  she  con- 
centrated all  the  force  of  her  intense  nature  to 
remove  the  impression  she  had  created.  She  re- 
membered what  was  at  stake.  Laville  was  her 
dominant  object — to  save  him  at  any  cost.  De- 
ception was  utterly  distasteful  to  her,  and  made 
the  part  she  plaj^ed  harder;  yet  she  must  go  on 
unflinchingly. 

157 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"You  presume  too  much,"  she  said,  with  a 
shrug  of  her  shoulders,  rising  at  once  from  her 
seat  and  walking  towards  the  door.  "In  his 
zeal  for  the  state,  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  forgets 
he  is  addressing  a  lady — an  unprotected  lady — 
and  not  one  of  his  subordinates." 

Her  hands  fell  to  her  sides,  and  she  watched 
him  keenly,  an  eager  hope  shining  in  her  eyes. 

He  stumbled  awkwardly  to  his  feet,  with  a 
faint  blush  of  shame  mantling  his  rugged  old 
face.  He  looked  at  her,  bewildered.  With  his 
unerring  judgment  of  human  nature,  he  still 
felt  that  she  knew  more  than  she  was  willing 
to  confide,  yet  it  seemed  unmanly  to  attempt  to 
coerce  her. 

"Pardon,  madame,"  he  begged.  "One  must 
accept  a  woman's  word."  His  voice  trembled  as 
he  stooped  closer  to  her  ear.  "  But  there  may  be 
those  who  can  command  your  submission." 

She  drew  back  from  him  in  anger  and  looked 
at  him  without  fear,  stung  to  superb  scorn  by 
his  words.  There  was  too  much  directness  in 
her  nature  to  permit  her  successfully  to  delude 
him. 

"No  one  can  force  me  against  my  will.  But, 
monsieur,  let  us  talk  no  more  about  it.  I  want 
the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  for  my  friend.  If  your 
meaning  seem  obscure  to  me,  pardon  my  stu- 
pidity, and  still  be  my  friend." 

She  held  out  her  hand  in  cordial  invitation 
158 


THE    SIEUR    DE    GLAUCOS    IS    BAFFLED 

and  turned  her  feverishly  brilliant  eyes  on  him. 
He  stooped  low  and  touched  her  hand  with  his 
bearded  lips.  Stern  man  as  he  was,  and  even 
fierce  at  times,  the  irresistible  seduction  of  her 
manner  was  too  strong  for  him. 

His  eyes  seemed  to  probe  her  very  soul.  "We 
only  learn  the  folly  of  trusting  a  woman  with 
secrets  of  importance  when  it  is  too  late.  Ah, 
madame,  the  face  which  I  last  saw,  six  years 
ago  in  the  ball-room  of  the  palace,  has  still  the 
loveliness  that  made  me  remember  you  all  these 
years — the  attraction  is  resistless.  No  matter 
what  time  brings,  I  will  believe  in  you.  I  ac- 
knowledge I  have  played  my  game  like  an  old 
fool,  but  I  have  only  done  what  others  before  me 
have  for  a  woman." 

"No,  no!"  she  cried,  eagerly,  with  quivering 
lips.  "  You  must  not — I  am  not  what  you  think, 
though  I — I  want  you  still  to  believe  in  me." 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  knit  his  shaggy  brows. 

"  I  repeat,  I  believe  in  you,  madame,  and  am 
in  all  sincerity  your  friend.  An  old  man  such 
as  I,  who  has  seen  so  much  of  the  cynicism 
and  untruthfulness  of  the  world,  likes  to  think 
that  once  in  a  while  he  finds  a  true  woman — 
somewhere/' 

She  bowed  her  head  in  silence,  rebuked  by  his 
faith. 

"I  am  not  an  untruthful  woman,  I  give  you 
my  word,"  she  said,  proudly.  "The  combina- 

159 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

tion  of  circumstances  that  forces  us  to  certain 
acts  are  often  beyond  our  control." 

She  hesitated  and  looked  at  him  with  a  smile 
pathetic  in  its  wistfulness. 

"I  have  really  few  friends — I  cannot  afford  to 
part  with  even  one.  Perhaps  some  time  I  shall 
throw  off  this  burden,  that  is  weighing  me  down, 
and  be  fair  with  you.  Oh,  Sieur  de  Glaucos, 
turn  your  eyes  away.  They  are  so  good,  so 
kind!  If  I  ever  needed  courage  it  is  now,  and  I 
weaken  when  I  look  at  you.  I  do  not  want  you 
to  think  evil  of  me — life  seems  so  out  of  tune. 
Oh,  I  know  not  what  to  do." 

He  made  no  answer  for  a  moment,  but  when 
he  spoke  his  voice  was  strangely  low  and  tender. 

"Has  anything  gone  seriously  wrong  with 
you?  Tell  me." 

"I cannot/'  she  exclaimed.  "Not  now.  I  do 
not  want  to  deceive  you.  It  is  not  my  nature. 
I  can  endure,  but  I  cannot  lie." 

She  clasped  her  listless  fingers  and  looked  un- 
falteringly up  in  his  face. 

"Don't  ask  about  that  despatch  again.  I 
know  something  about  it,  but  I  am  a  desperate 
woman.  I  can  see  no  way  out — I  cannot  tell 
you  more.  No,  no!  a  thousand  times  no!  Not 
if  I  were  to  be  tortured  until  my  life  should  end." 

She  waited  for  him  to  speak.  She  almost  ex- 
pected that  he  would  demand  the  packet.  She 
was  mistaken.  He  only  stood  looking  down 

160 


THE    SIEUR    DE    GLAUCOS    IS   BAFFLED 

upon  her  in  silent,  sick  wonderment.  Then  he 
lifted  her  cold  hand  to  his  lips,  kissed  it,  and 
quickly  dropped  it. 

"I  would  not  have  you  tell  me  more." 

The  stern  lines  about  his  mouth  softened,  and 
he  spoke  with  feeling. 

"We  will  have,  to  look  elsewhere  for  informa- 
tion regarding  the  packet/'  he  said,  "but  you 
can  trust  me,  madame.  I  do  not  understand,  but, 
dear  lady,  I  honor  you  and  I  wish  you  hap- 
piness. Truth  will  always  shed  a  serene  light 
upon  the  many  confusions  of  the  world,  and 
among  the  many  who  defy  it,  it  is  well  to  know 
some  who  fear  it." 

He  bowed  low,  and  went  towards  the  door, 
the  sweet  perfume  from  her  garments  mingling 
with  the  bitter  thought  that  he  had  been  baffled. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE   SPIES   OF   FRANCE 

AFFAIRS  in  the  thinly  populated  little  New 
/v  Orleans  town  had  taken  on  a  prosperous  air. 
Perier,  the  new  governor,  and  the  Jesuits  work- 
ing in  collusion,  had  gradually  pushed  the  agri- 
cultural interests  until  very  soon  the  vast  lands 
lying  about  the  city  were  tilled,  and  by  degrees 
developed  into  myrtle,  orange,  and  fig  orchards, 
diversified  by  fields  of  rice,  tobacco,  and  corn. 
A  mild  though  rapidly  increasing  system  of 
slavery  began  to  thrive,  producing  a  form  of 
feudalism  only  a  few  degrees  removed  from  the 
patriarchal  conditions  of  older  countries.  Perier 
had  done  much  for  the  interests  of  the  colon}7, 
but  the  faction  bent  on  Bienville's  return  re- 
mained discontented  and  dissatisfied.  Rossart 
was  Perier's  most  active  ally,  and  was  ever  on 
the  alert.  He  had  always  despised  Laville,  and 
now,  when  he  saw  Jeanne  manifesting  a  de- 
cided interest  in  him,  Rossart  found  his  growing 
impulse  to  remove  Laville  from  the  scene  of  his 
ambition  wax  stronger  than  ever. 
"It  will  be  easy  to  handle  him/'  he  reasoned. 
162 


THE    SPIES    OF    FRANCE 

"Give  him  time,  watch  him  closely;  he  is  sure 
to  step  into  the  trap — then  France  and  disgrace  I" 

Meanwhile  Rossart  was  in  an  unenviable 
state  of  mind.  Jeanne's  presence  constantly 
reminded  him  of  certain  painful  encounters  with 
her  back  yonder  in  France,  and  to  this  was  added 
the  affront  of  her  latest  repulses.  Since  the 
night  of  the  ball  he  had  attempted  to  see  her 
alone  on  several  occasions,  but  she  had  suc- 
cessfully avoided  him,  until  one  day  he  met  her 
and  Celie  as  they  were  passing  from  the  church. 

It  was  a  hazy  morning.  There  had  been  rain 
during  the  night,  and  the  atmosphere  was  still 
charged  with  moisture.  Jeanne  was  going  up 
the  steps,  with  Celie  following  behind,  when 
Rossart  accosted  her.  The  singing  from  the 
church  came  through  the  open  door,  faintly, 
sweetly  falling  upon  the  heavy  air. 

Jeanne  was  evidently  in  a  hurry,  but  Rossart 
had  no  notion  of  allowing  her  to  escape  him  this 
time.  He  went  straight  up  to  her  and  bowed, 
with  determination  gleaming  in  his  beady  black 
eyes. 

"It  will  be  wise  if  you  hear  what  I  have  to 
say,"  he  said,  frowning  until  his  brows  met. 

Jeanne  wheeled  about  and  faced  him. 

"I  begin  to  think  that  certain  gentlemen  of 
France  left  their  manners  behind  when  they 
came  to  Louisiana." 

Her  proud  lips  curled  with  a  scornful  smile,  and 
163 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

she  turned  to  enter  the  church.     The  chanting 
voices  fell  softly  on  the  air. 

Rossart  shook  his  head  as  with  an  air  of  pen- 
itence, and  sighed. 

"  Ah,  madame,  stay.  It  is  indeed  true,  but  the 
provocation  is  great.  Can  one  think  of  embellish- 
ments when  one's  heart  is  torn  with  emotion? 
Madame  Poche,  you  have  much  to  answer  for/' 

While  he  was  speaking  a  tall  figure  in  the 
garb  of  the  Jesuits  ascended  the  steps.  He  was 
a  dark  man,  with  a  lofty  forehead  and  eyes  filled 
with  mingled  softness  and  fire.  He  glanced 
keenly  at  Jeanne  and  Rossart,  and  in  an  in- 
stant both  recognized  Father  Beauvois,  one  of 
the  priests  who  ministered  to  the  spiritual  needs 
of  the  colony. 

Bending  towards  him,  with  a  gesture  of  ap- 
peal, Jeanne  would  have  spoken,  but  Father 
Beauvois  spoke  first. 

"Are  you  ready  to  come  to  us  3Tet?"  he  asked. 
'There  is  consolation  in  the  Church,  Madame 
Poche." 

He  saw  the  haggard  expression  in  her  eyes. 
She  had  interested  him  from  their  first  meeting, 
and  with  fiery  zeal  he  had  endeavored  to  win  her 
to  his  order. 

Jeanne  lifted  up  her  eyes  and  smiled  sadly, 

"Not  now,  Father  Beauvois." 

"The  conflict  will  end  some  day,  my  child," 
he  said. 

164 


THE    SPIES    OF    FRANCE 

She  started  and  turned  pale  and  looked  at 
Rossart.  What  did  the  priest  mean?  True,  he 
had  sought  her  confidence,  but  she  never  sus- 
pected that  he  might  know  of  her  mission,  and 
yet — and  yet — Cardinal  Fleury  had  his  allies  in 
every  part  of  the  dominion  of  France. 

"When  that  day  comes,  madame,"  concluded 
the  priest,  as  he  bowed  gravely  and  passed  up 
the  steps,  "I  shall  be  waiting  for  you." 

Rossart's  gaze  followed  the  tall  figure  until  it 
had  vanished  within  the  shadows  of  the  church. 

"They  think  to  conquer  us/'  he  said,  scorn- 
fully, "but  the  victory  will  not  be  theirs." 

Jeanne  wondered,  but  controlled  herself. 

"Ah,  my  chief  of  police,  are  you  not  for  the 
king?  Surely,  the  victory  of  the  Church  is 
King  Louis's  gain." 

Rossart  smiled  with  good-natured  superiority. 

"Father  Beauvois  presumes.  What  did  he 
mean,  my  lady  Jeanne,  when  he  asked  you  to 
come  to  them?" 

He  watched  Jeanne  closely. 

"Did  he  know,  for  example,  that  a  messenger 
from  France  has  withheld  a  despatch  from  the 
king?" 

He  looked  squarely  at  Jeanne. 

"I  have  learned  that  such  a  messenger  has 
landed  here  among  us.  Doubtless  Father  Beau- 
vois knows  the  king's  henchmen  are  good  marks- 
men, and  that  their  arrows  rarely  miss  the  mark. 

165 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

It  would  be  a  thousand  pities,  my  lady  Jeanne, 
if  so  beauteous  a  head  as  thine  should  fall." 

She  did  not  stir,  but  her  face  grew  a  shade 
paler.  She  wanted  to  get  away  from  the  ma- 
levolent power  with  which  this  evil  man  seemed 
to  hold  her. 

"  But  I  assure  you  it  will  be  best  not  to  appeal 
to  the  Church  in  case  of  a  forced  surrender — a 
forced  surrender,  I  say/' 

He  laughed  cynically. 

"I  have  learned  not  to  trust  a  woman,  my 
lady  Jeanne.  When  women  meddle  with  the 
affairs  of  men  they  need  watching.  Be  warned 
— you  are  watched." 

She  started,  and  would  have  passed  on,  but 
Rossart's  gaze  held  her. 

"With  your  interests  ever  in  view,"  he  con- 
tinued, gravely,  "I  warn  you,  my  dear,  incon- 
siderate madame,  that  I  am  never  thwarted  in 
anything.  I  will  not  be  crossed  now.  Do  you 
realize  that  Laville,  he  whom  you  favor  with 
your  smiles,  is — 

"I  will  not  listen  to  you,  monsieur,"  she  in- 
terrupted, with  cold  disdain  in  her  eyes. 

" — That  Laville  is  under  the  ban  of  the  king's 
displeasure,  and  by  the  king  I  mean  the  India 
Company,  the  cardinal,  and  all  the  powers  that 
crush.  You  who  come  from  the  court  of  France 
know  what  that  implies.  Beware,  madame,  that 
you  do  not  hasten  the  ruin  of  Captain  Laville, 

166 


THE    SPIES    OF    FRANCE 

and  when  he  falls  remember  that  those  who  love 
him  shall  fall  with  him."  He  lifted  his  eyes  in 
cool  triumph.  "Unless,  perchance,  they  retract 
in  time." 

Jeanne  winced,  but  only  for  <\  moment.  Be- 
fore she  had  time  to  reply  Rossart  joined  the 
people  coming  from  the  church  and  passed  on. 

Jeanne  went  home  in  a  more  thoughtful  mood 
than  usual.  Rossart's  threats  were  becoming 
unendurable;  she  had  thought,  after  their  last 
encounter,  that  she  had  silenced  him  forever. 
Oh,  if  she  could  only  know  what  it  was  that 
had  made  him  cower  that  night.  He  awakened 
a  strange  fear  in  her  breast.  To  know  that  he 
suspected  her  love  for  Laville,  and  would  dare  to 
strike  her  through  him,  had  the  power  to  move 
her  more  than  any  other  consideration.  She 
became  terrified  at  the  hold  he  had  upon  her. 

A  slight  Indian  disturbance  had  taken  La- 
ville from  the  colony  for  a  short  period,  and  after 
his  return  the  interviews  between  him  and  Jeanne 
were  brief  and  constrained.  The  pleasant  sea- 
son was  at  its  height,  and  Jeanne  went  every- 
where. There  were  many  evenings  spent  on 
the  broad  galleries  with  the  brightest  wits  of  the 
colony — the  little  drawing-room  parties,  the  lan- 
guid noons  with  a  book  or  a  chat  with  madame, 
the  afternoons  idled  under  the  live-oaks  in  ma- 
dame's  garden,  with  rumors  of  war  and  hints  of 
Indian  strife — stories  of  adventure  and  bloodshed 

167 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

that  shook  Jeanne's  very  soul.  All  this  made 
up  her  life  in  a  small  compass,  and  as  the  days 
and  nights  passed  on  in  a  perpetual  round  of 
dreamy  pleasure,  France  and  that  other  life  off 
there  seemed  a  thing  apart,  remembered  only  as 
a  vision. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

"YOUR   LOUISIANA   IS   FULL   OF   STRANGE 
THINGS  " 

IN  the  days  that  followed  Jeanne  did  not  see 
much  of  Rossart  nor  of  Laville.  Meanwhile 
the  Indian  trouble  was  growing,  and  the  gov- 
ernor, after  some  delay,  called  a  council  of  the 
Indian  chiefs.  Every  man  in  the  colony  waited 
anxiously  for  the  important  day.  Proclamation 
had  been  made  to  the  effect  that  the  warriors 
would  come  up  the  river,  so  that  preparations 
were  being  made  along  their  route  to  impress 
the  chiefs  with  the  concourse  of  people  and 
their  strong  means  of  defence.  Doors,  win- 
dows, galleries  swrarmed  with  human  life  in  the 
thoroughfares  through  which  the  savages  would 
have  to  pass. 

Laville  returned  to  the  settlement  the  night 
before  the  Indian  council  was  to  take  place,  and 
on  the  morning  of  that  important  day  he  called 
at  the  d'Artin  residence  long  before  the  chiefs 
were  to  arrive.  It  was  a  public  holiday,  and 
when  he  arrived  Laville  found  d'Artin  in  the 
act  of  hanging  a  floral  decoration  over  the  front 

169 


THE     KING'S     MESSENGER 

of  his  house.  Madame  had  a  way  of  hovering 
about  her  husband  when  he  was  engaged  in  any 
sort  of  labor  about  the  place,  and  so  it  happened 
that  on  this  occasion  they  were  together.  Jeanne 
was  in  the  house,  but  the  moment  she  heard 
Laville's  voice  she  came  out  on  the  gallery  and 
greeted  him  with  a  shy  seriousness. 

"Laville!  How  lucky!"  exclaimed  d'Artin 
from  his  elevated  position.  "Of  all  times  we 
need  you  most  now.  Jeanne  there" — he  shook 
a  reproving  finger  at  his  cousin — "restless,  un- 
reasonable woman  that  she  is,  wants  to  ride 
along  the  river  front  and  see  the  frolic.  We 
have  a  new  jennet,  and  the  little  carriage,  and 
nothing  will  do  but  she  must  ride  in  state  to  see 
the  procession.  Now,  Laville,  will  you,  like  a 
good  fellow,  go  in  my  place?" 

"I  thank  you,  d'Artin.  I  shall  be  glad  to  ac- 
company madame,  if  she  will  bear  with  my  soci- 
ety in  place  of  yours." 

He  involuntarily  glanced  towards  Jeanne,  who 
was  shading  her  eyes  and  looking  off  towards 
the  river.  He  dreaded  yet  longed  for  the  coveted 
tete-a-tete  with  her. 

"You  know  the  Suns/'  said  d'Artin.  "Tell 
Jeanne  about  them.  The  old  devils  will  be  out 
in  all  their  glory  of  war  paint  and  feathers,  and 
a  brave  sight  for  one  who  has  not  grown  weary 
of  their  very  names.  Jeanne  wants  to  see  every- 
thing— she  lives  in  perpetual  motion;"  the  young 

170 


"LOUISIANA  FULL  OF  STRANGE  THINGS" 

man  laughed  merrily  at   his  cousin's  wayward- 
ness. 

"  Well,  'tis  a  short  life  and  a  merry  one,"  laugh- 
ed Jeanne.  "  A  little  more  dancing,  a  little  more 
laughter,  some  great  joy,  and  then  a  sudden 
good-night.  It  is  better  to  say  farewell  when  one 
is  still  young  enough  to  be  remembered  with  re- 
gret. I  cannot  imagine  a  more  depressing  thing 
than  to  outlive  all  the  sensations  of  youth." 

In  the  act  of  turning  towards  Jeanne,  Laville's 
eyes  rested  on  Madame  d'Artin,  who  was  ex- 
changing a  meaning  look  with  her  husband. 
He  knew  that  Jeanne's  philosophy  was  held  in 
contempt  by  this  thoroughly  practical  woman. 
He  was  strangely  moved  by  the  impassioned 
voice.  The  reserve  and  control  of  the  past  few 
weeks  were  breaking  down.  It  was  all  so  true, 
what  she  said  —  to  live,  even  for  one  day,  was  it 
not  worth  a  whole  lifetime  of  loveless  existence? 

There  was  a  decided  contradiction  in  madame's 
eyes. 

"It  is  wrong  to  feel  as  you  do,  Jeanne,"  she 
said,  curtly. 

D'Artin  looked  down  from  his  height  with  a 
strong  sense  of  mirth  in  him. 

"I  never  saw  such  a  little  woman,"  he  said. 
"Jeanne  revels  in  our  Louisiana  weather.  She 
enjoys  everything;  even  the  tamest  affairs  take 
on  a  rosy  hue  to  her.  What  madame  calls  ro- 
mancing is  her  penchant." 

171 


THE    KING'S     MESSENGER 

"  I  fear  to  say  another  word/'  said  Jeanne,  mer- 
rily, "lest  I  breathe  discord  into  the  domestic 
felicity  of  this  household.  You  know,  Captain 
Laville,  they  never  can  quite  agree  over  me. 
But  come,  let  us  be  off." 

They  had  no  more  than  started  on  their  ride 
when  it  became  evident  to  Laville  that  Jeanne 
was  in  one  of  her  most  reckless  moods.  She 
talked  and  laughed  like  a  happy  child,  and  skep- 
tical and  cynical  as  he  had  grown  of  late,  La- 
ville was  completely  overcome,  and  melted  un- 
der her  warmth  and  gayety.  In  truth,  she  had 
never  seemed  more  bewitching.  Her  lithe,  active 
body,  robed  in  a  rich  silken  gown,  her  exqui- 
sitely shaped  arms  veiled  by  a  thin  covering,  and 
her  curving  bosom  incased  in  its  silk  bodice 
which  rose  and  fell  with  her  ecstatic  bursts  of 
laughter — all  made  her  seem  a  creature  of  won- 
derful life  and  vitality  in  the  insolence  of  per- 
fect health.  She  talked  incessantly,  contrary  to 
her  usual  custom,  and  her  voice,  like  her  per- 
sonality, was  indefinable.  She  was  continually 
changing — now  gay,  now  pathetic,  now  danger- 
ously caressing,  with  merely  a  look  or  a  sigh,  then 
cold  and  haughty  again;  always  frank  and  self- 
unconscious,  but  never  conventional.  She  had  a 
whole  lapful  of  roses  some  one  had  given  her  on 
the  way,  and  she  pelted  Laville  with  their  petals 
from  time  to  time  with  a  charming  semblance  of 
raillery  that  made  a  carnival  of  their  holiday. 

172 


"LOUISIANA  FULL  OF    STRANGE  THINGS" 

A  group  of  dignitaries  stood  in  front  of  the 
government  house  as  they  rode  past.  The  Sieur 
de  Glaucos  was  among  them,  and,  following  the 
gaze  of  the  others,  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  Jeanne 
and  her  escort. 

"A  good  old  man,"  remarked  Jeanne,  as  she 
caught  sight  of  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos. 

"And  my  enemy,"  Laville  returned,  quickly. 

She  looked  up  and  met  his  eyes  with  an  ex- 
pression of  alarm. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?  Is  the  Sieur  de  Glau- 
cos really  your  enemy  ?" 

"Practically  that,"  he  said.  "You  see,"  when 
they  had  gone  beyond  the  convent  grounds,  "  he 
wants  Perier  retained  in  office.  I  have  been  mis- 
represented at  court,  and  though  I  am  true  to 
my  principles,  I  am  sure  that  Glaucos  is  of  a 
mind  with  those  who  would  like  to  see  me  re- 
called to  France.  But  what  a  woman  you  are 
for  state  secrets!  How  does  it  happen  that  you 
care  about  matters  of  statecraft?" 

"I  do  care  more  than  you  know,"  she  replied. 
"Do  you  still  think  me  frivolous?" 

"I  have  never  thought  that  of  you."  He 
looked  at  her  humbly.  "But  you  seem  to  live 
in  an  atmosphere  of  perpetual  happiness." 

Her  eyes  looked  wistful  as  she  answered  him. 

"What  is  the  use  of  mourning  when  one  has 
to  live  in  the  world?  No  one  has  any  use  for 
tears — everybody  loves  our  smiles.  I  always 

173 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

mean  to  smile."  There  was  a  piteous  wistful- 
ness  in  her  eyes  and  a  catch  in  her  voice.  "  Of 
course,  it  is  hard  sometimes." 

"You  seem  to  have  no  troubles;  your  life  has 
evidently  flowed  in  smooth  channels,  Madame 
Jeanne.  I  sometimes  wonder  whether  you  have 
ever  loved  a  human  being  with  all  the  passion  of 
your  soul.  I  know  you  do  not  love  the  man  you 
married.  " 

A  flush  crimsoned  her  face  and  neck;  her  lips 
trembled,  and  her  happy  abandon  was  suddenly 
checked. 

"I  begged  you  to  leave  his  name  unspoken," 
she  said,  quickly ;  "  you  have  forgotten. "  There 
was  a  pause,  and  then  she  went  on  passionately : 
'  But  I  will  answer  you.  I  was  so  young  then. 
What  can  a  child  know  of  marriage?  I  was  a  gay, 
thoughtless  girl — but  so  happy.  All  girls  married, 
wherefore  should  not  I?  L  thought  I  loved  my 
husband,  but  I  have  only  just  realized  that  I 
have  lived  all  these  years  without  some  of  the 
best  things  life  can  give."  She  sighed  wearily. 
"Perchance  I  shall  go  laughing  through  life 
to  the  end,  but — you  have  no  right  to  judge  me." 

Laville  looked  at  the  proud,  flushed  face.  He 
could  not  bear  to  have  her  think  that  he  would 
judge  her  and  accuse  her  harshly. 

"God  knows  I  would  not  judge  you,  madame." 

His  tone  was  almost  aggressive,  and  he  turn- 
ed his  pleading  eyes  on  her  with  a  fierce  chal- 

174 


"LOUISIANA  FULL  OF    STRANGE  THINGS" 

lenge.  He  wanted  to  snatch  her  to  his  breast 
and  hold  her  in  his  strong  arms  until  he  had 
taught  her  the  meaning  of  happiness. 

She  did  not  reply,  and  a  constrained  silence 
held  them  for  a  long  time.  They  were  on  the 
edge  of  the  settlement,  near  to  the  spot  where 
Governor  Bienville  was  afterwards  to  dwell. 
They  were  riding  near  the  levee.  They  could 
hear  the  slow  gurgling  of  water  as  the  waves 
slipped  through  the  reeds,  on  the  other  side.  The 
light  of  the  sun  brightened  the  tops  of  the  broad- 
spreading  live-oaks  and  gleamed  like  fire  on  the 
cypresses  on  the  farther  side  of  the  road.  There 
was  a  solemn  beauty  in  the  dreary  marshes 
and  dusky  swamp  land,  a  silent  loveliness  that 
appealed  to  Jeanne's  imaginative  nature  and 
aroused  a  feeling  of  great  tenderness  in  her. 
Afar  off  the  church  bell  rang. 

"Sometimes  I  wish  I  were  a  good  church- 
woman,"  she  said,  gently.  "Then  I  might  in- 
deed be  happy,  for  I  am  not  happy,  in  spite  of 
all  my  laughter  and  gayety." 

"You  would  never  make  a  good  churchwom- 
an,"  replied  Laville.  He  smiled  down  at  her  in 
a  friendly  way  and  drew  the  jennet  up  beside 
the  levee  where  they  could  look  over  the  top 
and  see  the  far-stretching  river.  "Creeds  nar- 
row one  down.  A  great  soul  chafes  at  bonds, 
and  I  cannot  imagine  you  living  within  the  con- 
fines of  the  Church." 

175 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

Her  wandering  eyes  looked  far  over  the 
water. 

"  Captain  Laville,  I  think  true  love  is  religion, 
love  is  redemptive.  If  I  should  ever  find  it,  I 
think  I  could  be  happy." 

His  glance  sought  hers  quickly,  but  he  saw 
she  was  in  one  of  her  dreaming,  impersonal 
moods. 

"The  world  rarely  gives  us  what  we  want/' 
he  answered,  carelessly  studying  the  wild-flowers 
blooming  in  the  sunshine  on  top  of  the  levee. 
"With  me,  things  seem  always  to  have  gone 
awry.  I  was  sent  out  here  from  France  when 
I  wanted  to  remain  there.  I  lost  my  mother — 
the  only  creature  I  ever  loved — when  I  needed 
her  most ;  and  now  Bienville  is  gone,  and — well, 
it  is  no  use  going  farther.  Sufficient  that  every- 
thing generally  is  going  to  the  devil  with  me. 
Oh,  how  good  the  river  smells!"  He  pulled  him- 
self up.  "  The  freshness  of  it  makes  me  think 
of  the  sea  and  of  France." 

Jeanne  had  turned  pale.  The  muscles  of  her 
mouth  twitched,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  sudden 
tears.  There  was  no  sound  but  that  of  the  lap- 
ping of  the  waves  against  the  reeds. 

"Are  you  threatened  with  immediate  dan- 
ger?" she  asked,  looking  at  him  searchingly. 

He  made  no  answer,  but,  glancing  up  sud- 
denly, he  saw  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  With  a  cry 
that  wrung  her  heart,  he  caught  her  in  his  arms 

176 


"LOUISIANA  FULL  OF    STRANGE  THINGS" 

and  kissed  her  face,  her  hair,  her  eyes,  fairly 
smothering  her  with  the  vehemence  of  his  pas- 
sion. 

"Jeanne,  Jeanne,  you  do  care!"  he  cried. 
"You  do  love  me!" 

All  at  once  he  dropped  his  arms,  smitten  by 
remorse.  He  looked  at  her  wet  face,  where  the 
tears  still  dropped,  realizing  what  a  hopeless, 
ghastly  thing  is  a  man's  resolve. 

"Sweetheart,  there  is  no  crime  where  there  is 
love.  Love  is  the  natural  heritage  of  the  human 
race.  I  am  wild — wild  with  love  of  you.  This 
is  fate's  last  stroke — that  I  should  love  you,  an- 
other man's  wife.  Ah,  God  in  heaven!" 

She  drew  back  from  him,  panting,  white  with 
shame.  There  was  a  strange,  intense  light  in 
her  eyes,  the  tears  had  all  gone,  and  she  spoke 
in  low,  passionate  tones. 

"You  promised  to  heed  me  not  so  long  ago. 
You  must  respect  me  now.  I  have  never  given 
you  cause  for  this.  I — I  have  tried  to  be  differ- 
ent with  you — no,  no,  it  is  not  that;  I  have  not 
tried;  it  has  been  so — I  have  always  been  sincere 
with  you;  but  you  shall  not  treat  me  in  this 
way.  I  prefer  that  you  admire  me  less.  I  can 
do  anything — anything;  but  you  must  be  your- 
self, and  let  me  go  my  way." 

Every  glance,  every  sharp  word  cut  him  like 
a  knife,  and  he  gave  a  muffled  cry  of  anguish. 

"Oh,  I  know  I  have  no  right,"  he  cried  bit- 
M  177 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

terly,  stung  by  her  rebuke.  "  But  you  do  not  un- 
derstand. If  you  loved  me  as  I  love  you,  you 
would  know  what  is  in  my  heart — you  would 
understand." 

She  gave  a  convulsive  sob. 

"Forgive  me,  sweetheart.  You  trusted  me; 
I  have  done  you  wrong;  but  my  love  for  you 
has  maddened  me,  Jeanne.  I  would  do  any- 
thing on  this  earth  if  I  really  knew  I  could  win 
you  for  my  own.  Oh,  I  know  you  don't  care  for 
me;  how  could  that  be  possible — a  rough  devil- 
may-care  fellow  such  as  I  am?  —  you  who  could 
have  the  love  of  the  noblest  and  best  of  the  earth. 
I  care  not  that  you  were  given  to  another  in  your 
childhood.  If  you  were  of  my  mind,  I  would 
take  you  away  to  the  farthest  end  of  the  earth 
and  deem  you  the  purest  woman  in  the  world. 
I  swear  no  fear  of  hell  could  keep  me  from  you 
if  you  bade  me  stay.  I  could  bear  any  torture 
to  know  you  cared  a  little  for  me."  He  caught 
her  wrist  again.  "Keep  quiet,"  he  commanded. 
"  Do  not  struggle.  As  I  am  a  man,  I  won't  harm 
you;  but  listen — look  into  my  eyes — I  want  to 
see  what  there  is  in  yours." 

Her  lips  quivered,  and  she  returned  his  glance 
with  one  of  infinite  scorn.  Then  she  turned  to 
him  in  violent  anger. 

"I  hate  you  when  you  talk  like  that,"  she 
cried.  "  I  hate  you,  and  I  won't  be  held  at  bay. 
I  won't  be  questioned,  and  you  shall  not  say  those 

178 


"LOUISIANA  FULL  OF  STRANGE  THINGS" 

things  to  me.  If  you  cannot  be  silent,  I  will 
leave  you  at  once  and  never  speak  to  you  or  see 
you  again.  Oh,  mon  Dieu,  I  thought  you  were 
honest.  I  have  looked  up  to  you  as  the  very 
soul  of  honor,  of  tenderness — " 

"I  would  to  God  you  would  go  where  I  could 
never  see  you  again,"  he  cried,  still  holding  her 
wrist.  "Why  should  you  come  into  my  life  arid 
crown  my  helpless  misery  with  the  hopelessness 
of  your  love?" 

With  another  wrench,  she  drew  her  hand 
away.  Involuntarily  she  looked  at  him,  white 
with  anger,  but  there  was  fear  as  well  as  anger 
in  her  heart.  She  sank  back  in  the  carriage, 
pale  and  troubled. 

He  folded  his  arms  across  his  breast  with  stoi- 
cal resolve.  "Forgive  me,  forgive  me/'  he  plead- 
ed. "I  was  rude,  unmanly,  but  think  of  me, 
Jeanne,  of  my  life.  The  best,  the  sweetest  thing 
in  life  has  only  come  to  me  now.  But  as  God'  f 
lives,  I  will  do  my  part.  You  need  not  fear, 
Jeanne;  I  shall  not  trouble  you  any  more.  I 
know  you  do  not  care,  and  if  I  love  you,  as  I  do 
with  my  life,  you  cannot  help  that." 

"It  will  not  be  hard,"  she  said,  wearily,  in  an 
unsteady  voice.  "I  am  going  back  to  France; 
I  cannot  bear  your  Louisiana.  It  is  full  of 
strange  things — mystery  and  heartaches.  I  will 
be  glad  to  be  gone.  We  manage  things  better 
in  France."  There  was  pathos  in  her  voice, 

179 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

unshed  tears  in  her  eyes.  At  last,  this  thing 
she  had  hoped  for,  yet  feared,  had  come  to 
pass;  she  loved  and  was  loved,  but  now  it  must 
be  ended. 

They  drove  back  to  the  settlement  in  silence. 

From  that  day  Jeanne  would  never  allow  her- 
self to  be  alone  with  Laville.  They  met  at  d'Ar- 
tin's  and  elsewhere,  but  the  old  frankness  was 
gone  and  a  cold  constraint  withheld  them.  Only 
a  few  months  ago  Jeanne's  incredulity  of  the 
sweet,  turbulent  emotions  that  now  possessed 
her  had  been  absolute,  and  she  would  have  bar- 
tered everything  but  honor  for  this  great  love. 
But  she  had  not  foreseen  the  tumult  of  unrest 
that  it  had  brought  with  it. 

And  there  was  that  fatal  despatch  still  locked 
in  her  bosom. 


CHAPTER   XIV 
THE     AGENT     FROM     FRANCE 

ONE  evening  about  sundown  a  ship,  delayed 
by  adverse  winds,  arrived  from  France. 
Jeanne  walked  down  to  the  levee  to  see  it,  at- 
tended by  several  ladies  and  their  escorts,  among 
them  her  cousin  Antoine  and  his  wife.  She 
detected  a  certain  coldness  and  suspicion  in 
d'Artin's  manner  that  boded  no  good  to  her, 
but  with  that  fine  dignity  which  was  her  herit- 
age she  pretended  not  to  notice  it.  Jeanne 
was  dressed  that  evening  in  all  her  splendor. 
Her  brocade  skirts  glistened  with  threads  of 
gold,  and  the  people,  unused  to  such  magnif- 
icence, stared  in  wonder.  Her  eyes,  green-gray 
that  day,  with  a  nervous  little  frown  between 
them,  were  shining  radiantly  beneath  the  brim 
of  her  hat  with  its  silver  lace  and  nodding 
plumes.  Celie  walked  behind  her  mistress,  car- 
rying her  fan  and  cloak.  There  were  many 
who  cast  bold  glances  at  "my  lady  Jeanne/' 
but  she  passed  on  with  unconscious  grace,  her 
satin  gown  rustling  and  leaving  a  delicate  per- 
fume in  its  trail. 

181 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

A  couple  of  Jesuit  fathers — the  fiery  Beauvois 
and  the  sweet-tempered  Le  Petit — were  standing 
on  the  quay  when  Jeanne  arrived.  Both  men 
bowed  to  her,  but  the  former  approached  and 
whispered : 

"My  child,  be  guided  by  me.  France  has 
many  spies.  In  confession  only  lies  your 
safety." 

Jeanne  was  disturbed  by  the  priest's  confi- 
dent manner,  and  resented  his  interference. 

"I  do  not  understand/'  she  said,  hotly.  "If 
I  were  in  the  confessional,  I  might  ask  for  ab- 
solution. As  it  is,  I  prefer  to  arrange  my  own 
affairs." 

"  I  would  spare  you.  There  is  need  of  such  a 
life  and  example  as  madame  might  set  in  the 
colon}?-.  Look  to  the  ship  to-day.  Be  warned 
in  time.  One  comes  from  France,  I  hear,  in 
search  of  the  king's  messenger." 

Without  another  w^ord  he  moved  from  her  and 
mingled  with  the  crowd.  Jeanne  looked  after 
him  in  troubled  amazement.  Was  even  the 
church  spying  on  her?  Her  heart  gave  a  great 
throb.  They  could  take  her  life,  but  if  the  pack- 
et were  not  found,  there  would  be  none  to  condemn 
Laville,  and  he  would  gain  time.  Every  new 
moon  brought  a  change  at  court  in  those  times. 
A  little  time — only  a  little  more  time — and  he 
would  be  safe.  She  regained  courage,  and  with 
a  bold  grace  crossed  the  road  to  where  her  cousin 

182 


THE    AGENT    FROM    FRANCE 

Antoine  stood  on  the  levee.  The  soft  light  shone 
on  her  fair  face,  so  smiling,  so  pale. 

"Ma  foi!  but  you  are  white,  Jeanne,"  said 
d'Artin  as  she  reached  his  side. 

At  that  a  scarlet  flame  covered  her  face  and 
throat,  and  she  gave  his  arm  a  little  pinch  to 
hide  her  confusion.  The  next  moment  she  laugh- 
ed softly,  and  was  her  old  brilliant  self  again. 

"  There,  my  girl,  you  look  happy  again.  What 
was  Beauvois  saying  to  you  to  drive  the  color 
from  your  face?  Was  he  giving  you  a  sermon 
on  the  vanities  of  this  world?" 

She  nodded  assent.  Her  heart  was  beating 
fast,  but  she  stood  there  a  silent  figure  of  re- 
straint. 

"Perchance  you  needed  the  lecture,  Jeanne. 
I  have  not  been  pleased  with  you  myself." 

"We  won't  speak  of  that  now,"  she  said,  stiff- 
ly. "  The  ship  is  about  here. " 

"Do  you  think  your  husband  is  on  board?" 

He  asked  the  question  uneasily,  watching  the 
glowing  face. 

"You  do  not  confide  in  me  now,  Jeanne.  I 
know  nothing  of  your  thoughts  lately.  Away 
back  yonder  we  were  like  brother  and  sister.  I 
was  nearest  of  all — even  closer  to  you  than  Poche 
— but  you  are  changed,  Jeanne.  You  do  not 
love  me  as  you  used  to  do." 

Jeanne  breathed  quickly  and  turned  pale  at 
the  mention  of  her  husband.  She  involuntarily 

183 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

clasped  her  hands  to  her  bosom  as  if  in  sudden 
fright. 

"Oh,  Antoine,  you  are  the  same  as  ever,  and 
I  love  you  just  as  much.  You  used  to  bear 
with  my  childish  troubles.  Try  to  believe  in  me 
now.  I  am  worried,  Antoine,  but  I  cannot  ex- 
plain." 

They  withdrew  a  little  space  from  the  others. 
"  I  wish  you  would  confess  what  is  making  you 
so  unkind  to  me,  Antoine."  Her  eyes  grew  hu- 
mid. "You  vex  me,  you  know  that  you  are 
as  dear  to  me  as  ever,  cousin.  It  is  heartless 
of  you  to  treat  me  thus." 

The  manly  little  figure,  so  elegant  in  gray 
doublet  and  hose,  became  rigid  in  every  line. 
His  eyes  expanded  with  increasing  serious- 
ness, and  he  dropped  his  snuff-box,  and  forgot 
to  pick  it  up,  while  scrutinizing  her  with  wist- 
ful earnestness.  "  You  make  me  sad,  Jeanne. 
You  are  not  your  old  gay  self.  What  is  it?" 

She  looked  up  with  a  start  and  laid  her  hand 
on  his  arm. 

"I  try  to  be  strong,  Antoine.  God  knows  I 
do.  You  know  what  a  grave  my  married  life 
has  been,  and  you  should  understand."  Her 
voice  was  choked  by  a  dry  sob. 

This  was  not  lost  on  d'Artin.  He  looked  rue- 
fully at  her  face  beneath  the  brilliant  sunshine, 
and  then  his  gaze  travelled  down  the  yellow 
river  to  the  ship  coming  into  port. 

184 


THE    AGENT    FROM    FRANCE 

He  aroused  himself  and  brought  his  eyes  back 
to  her  face,  with  a  vague  fear  in  them. 

"  You  must  trust  me  as  you  used  to  do,  Jeanne. 
We  were  good  friends  back  yonder ;  we  can  still 
be  as  true  friends  here.  You  must  let  me  help 
you." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently,  his 
small  mouth,  delicate  and  rich  as  a  girl's,  un- 
relenting. 

"Your  father  is  old,  your  brother  is  ill.  I 
alone  am  capable  of  defending  you.  If  Poche 
forgets  his  duty,  you  may  be  sure  I  shall  remem- 
ber mine." 

D' Artin  had  no  sooner  uttered  those  last  words 
than  he  wished  them  unspoken.  Jeanne  turn- 
ed coldly  from  him  and  turned  to  greet  the  Sieur 
de  Glaucos.  Standing  beside  him,  she  watched 
the  landing.  What  Father  Beauvois  had  said 
troubled  her  deeply.  Whom  did  he  refer  to? 
And  Antoine — what  did  he  mean?  Was  her 
husband  indeed  coming?  She  waited  anxious- 
ly, scanning  the  faces  of  the  arrivals,  but 
there  appeared  to  be  no  one  for  her.  Jeanne 
returned  wearily  to  d'Artin's  house,  but  with  a 
decided  feeling  of  relief. 

Later  on  a  letter  from  her  husband  was  sent 
her.  It  had  come  on  the  ship.  At  the  end  of 
the  letter  he  mentioned  the  despatch,  and  sup- 
posed that  before  the  sailing  of  the  next  ship 
he  would  hear  she  had  delivered  it.  It  seemed 

185 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

to  Jeanne  that  fate  had  her  by  the  hand  and 
held  her  fast. 

There  was  a  ball  in  the  Government  House 
that  night,  and  Jeanne  had  accompanied  the 
others  thither,  but,  troubled  by  Laville's  pres- 
ence and  d'Artin's  suspicion,  she  returned  home 
early,  with  the  plea  of  a  headache.  She  stole 
out  on  the  broad  gallery  and  sat  there  under  the 
shadow  of  the  vines  in  her  ball-gown.  She  tried 
to  form  some  plan  of  action  with  regard  to  the 
despatch.  Sometimes  it  seemed  as  though  she 
must  warn  Laville.  But  she  knew  this  man; 
he  would  not  allow  her  to  be  compromised;  he 
would  give  himself  up  first. 

She  had  only  been  on  the  gallery  a  short  time 
when  she  heard  whispering  in  the  garden  close 
to  where  she  sat  concealed  by  the  foliage.  In- 
stantly she  recognized  Rossart's  smooth  accents 
and  another  voice — that  of  a  stranger  who  had 
evidently  arrived  that  day  on  the  ship  now  in 
port. 

"Peste!  Rossart,  I  know  she  has  them.  I 
saw  Cardinal  Fleury  place  them  in  her  hands, 
and  I  was  with  Poche  an  hour  before  the  ship 
sailed." 

Jeanne  caught  her  breath  and  listened  in  alarm. 

"I  heard  Poche  admonish  her  to  be  careful," 
continued  the  same  voice.  "Between  you  and 
me,  I  believe  there  is  more  in  those  pages  than 
you  think — death  for  others  besides  Laville.  I 

186 


THE    AGENT    FROM    FRANCE 

tried  to  find  out  what  the  message  portended, 
but  in  vain.  If  Madame  Poche  knew,  she  kept 
•  it  well  from  her  husband,  for  I  swear  he  knows 
nothing." 

"We  must  have  those  papers,"  said  Rossart. 

"Where  does  the  lady  lodge?"  questioned  the 
other. 

"It  is  Lesseur,"  moaned  Jeanne,  in  agony. 
"  He  knows.  He  saw  the  despatch." 

"Madame  Poche's  chamber  is  the  one  on  the 
right,"  she  heard  Rossart  say,  "there  where  the 
light  is  burning  now.  She  is  at  the  ball.  You 
can  climb  up  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  gallery 
and  search  the  room.  If  you  do  not  find  them, 
she  must  have  them  about  her  person.  Get 
those  papers  for  me,  Lesseur,  and  I  shall  be  your 
debtor  for  life.  Fail,  and  you  may  repent  it." 

"Never  fear,"  said  Lesseur.  "She  has  the 
papers  yet.  They  have  not  been  delivered,  and 
they  must  be  in  her  possession.  And  if  so,  by 
our  Holy  Lady,  I'll  get  them.  She  has  the  very 
devil  of  a  temper,  but  doubtless  we  can  make 
her  give  them  up.  What  do  you  say  to  mak- 
ing the  first  attempt  in  an  hour?  The  ser- 
vants are  moving  about  down -stairs  yet,  and 
though  each  moment  counts,  we  must  take  every 
precaution.  The  very  next  ship  that  sails  may 
upset  our  plans." 

Jeanne  crouched  deeper  in  the  shadow.  "To- 
night they  will  get  that  letter."  She  shuddered. 

187 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"They  will  climb  the  pillar  of  the  gallery  when 
all  are  asleep.  Rossart  is  determined."  Her 
eyes  flashed.  "There  will  be  no  danger;  the 
despatch  would  be  theirs."  Jeanne  tried  to 
think.  Her  hand  closed  over  the  cluster  of  a 
rose-vine  and  crushed  it  with  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair. What  if  the  papers  should  be  found? 
She  almost  cried  out. 

Rossart  was  speaking  again.  "Captain  La- 
ville  little  thinks  what  is  in  store  for  him.  We 
can  take  him  into  custody,  in  all  probability, 
the  moment  the  papers  are  found.  Fleury  has 
sent  nobles  to  the  scaffold  for  less  crimes  than 
his.  And  then,  my  lady  Jeanne,  methinks  you 
will  sue  in  vain.  She  loves  him.  Did  you  no- 
tice to-night  how  luminous  her  eyes  were  when 
she  spoke  of  him?" 

"Perdition!"  exclaimed  Lesseur.  "If  that  be 
true,  our  task  grows  more  difficult.  Her  hus- 
band, too — he  expects  to  come  on  the  next  ship 
sailing  from  France." 

"Not  so  fast,"  replied  Rossart.  "As  for  her 
belonging  to  Poche,  what  of  that?  Does  any 
man  in  Louisiana  deny  himself  anything  under 
the  light  of  heaven?" 

Jeanne's  hand  tightened  over  her  bosom.  She 
gazed  up  at  the  starry  skies  and  down  at  the 
quiet  town  with  the  levee  in  front  of  it.  The 
moon,  now  high  in  the  heavens,  cast  a  beam 
through  the  rose-vines  and  shone  upon  her  white, 

188 


THE    AGENT    FROM    FRANCE 

set  face.  She  waited  breathlessly  for  what  seem- 
ed an  interminable  time  until  the  dark  figures 
had  faded  out  of  sight.  Then  she  crept  out  of 
her  hiding-place  and  passed  through  the  shad- 
ows in  the  hall  to  her  room  above.  Once  in  the 
friendly  shelter  of  her  own  chamber,  she  closed 
and  fastened  the  door  and  fell  against  it  in  de- 
spair. Her  mind  was  racked  by  fear  and  inde- 
cision. She  thought  of  Laville,  and  the  thought 
was  full  of  pain.  An  instinct,  an  impulse,  warn- 
ed her  to  act  quickly,  but  what  could  she  do? 
Suddenly  a  smile  lighted  up  her  wan  features. 
"I  will  do  it,"  she  laughed,  softly.  "It  is  the 
only  way.  I  know  I  can  trust  him."  All  in  a 
moment  her  pride  and  daring  returned.  She 
hesitated  no  longer,  but  hastily  wrapping  her 
long  cloak  about  her  and  pulling  the  hood  over 
her  head,  she  started  to  carry  out  her  great  re- 
solve. Then  she  felt  in  her  bosom  for  the  let- 
ter. It  was  there. 


CHAPTER  XV 

• 

"OH,  JEANNE,  JEANNE,  SWEETHEART!" 

IT  was  ten  o'clock  when  Jeanne  stepped  out 
of  the  door  of  d'Artin's  house.  The  night 
was  dark  and  damp.  It  had  been  raining,  and 
a  moist  wind  blew  in  her  face.  The  d'Artins 
had  their  permit  with  them,  and  without  it  she 
knew  there  was  a  risk  in  her  being  abroad  at 
that  hour.  Up  and  down  the  wet  street,  as  far 
as  she  could  see  in  the  gloom,  there  was  no  one 
in  sight,  but  somewhere  far  off  in  the  town  she 
heard  the  watchman's  "  all's  well"  and  a  dog's 
melancholy  howl.  It  chilled  Jeanne  and  sent  a 
tremor  of  foreboding  through  her.  She  tried  to 
dispel  her  gloomy  thoughts  as  she  passed  out 
into  the  dark  road  and  up  the  street  she  had 
grown  to  know  so  well. 

All  at  once  she  remembered  that  she  still  wore 
her  ball  slippers;  her  delicate  feet  were  almost 
on  the  damp  ground.  The  fatal  goad  of  memory 
deepened  her  sense  of  helpless  womanhood  in 
this  hour  of  need — how  her  husband  had  always 
left  her  to  be  dependent  on  herself,  and  how  all 
her  life  she  had  missed  in  him  the  thousand  and 

IQO 


"OH,  JEANNE,  JEANNE,  SWEETHEART'/' 

one  little  courtesies  showered  on  her  by  others. 
She  slipped  along  through  the  mud,  past  the  grim, 
market-house  with  its  empty  stalls  and  dark  cor- 
ners, and  turned  into  the  rue  de  St.  Anne.  Shc^ 
could  see  the  lights  blazing  in  the  Government 
House  and  hear  the  music.  She  hurried  raster 
through  the  chill  atmosphere,  rushing  past  the 
guard-house  like  one  pursued.  Finally  she  reach- 
ed Laville's  abode  and  turned  into  the  shadowy 
yard  under  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  magnolias. 
She  ran  breathlessly  up  the  steps  and  on  to  the 
gallery,  vaguely  thinking  of  that  happy  time  when 
she  had  been  there  before.  She  hesitated  on  the 
gallery.  She  was  only  a  few  paces  from  him. 
But  was  he  there,  or  was  he  still  at  the  ball?  In 
an  instant  she  had  entered  the  open  hallway  and 
was  knocking  timidly  on  the  door  of  his  room. 
There  was  a  dead  silence  for  a  few  moments — 
how  her  heart  beat!  Hark,  she  heard  the  bolt 
slide  in  the  socket.  The  door  was  partly  opened 
and  Jupiter  shot  out,  almost  knocking  her 
down  in  his  delight.  She  patted  the  animal 
on  the  head  and  slipped  noiselessly  in,  while 
the  door  was  closed  behind  her,  shutting  out 
the  dog. 

It  was  Marcello,  Laville's  servant,  who  bade 
her  enter.  Her  eyes  met  his  with  eager  ques- 
tioning. The  negro  had  seen  her  and  his  mas- 
ter together,  but  she  had  never  been  there  since 
that  memorable  night  when  he  waited  on  them 

191 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

at  supper   together.     He  stared  in  amazement 
and  almost  stumbled  in  dumb  alarm. 

Jeanne  failed  to  notice  the  negro's  awkward 
salute.  Not  a  word  had  been  spoken,  yet  Mar- 
cello  felt  that  nothing  short  of  pure  terror  had 
brought  this  woman,  young,  alone,  and  unpro- 
tected, at  that  late  hour  of  the  night,  to  his  mas- 
ter's house. 

She  dropped  her  scarlet  cloak  to  the  floor, 
whereupon  the  negro  gathered  it  up  and  threw 
it  across  a  chair,  gazing  at  her  as  at  a  radiant 
vision. 

"Your  master,  Marcello.     Is  he  within?" 

Her  glance  sought  the  negro's  face  with  in- 
tense anxiety. 

Marcello  pointed  silently  to  a  recumbent  fig- 
ure lying  on  the  great  bed  of  carved  wood  cano- 
pied with  faded  silk.  Laville,  his  doublet  off, 
lay  calm  in  the  tranquillity  of  sleep. 

Jeanne  gazed  at  him  in  mute  appeal,  with  the 
softest  compassion  in  her  eyes.  She  stood  a  mo- 
ment, smiling,  and  then,  aroused  by  a  move- 
ment from  Marcello,  drew  nearer  the  fire. 

"You  can  go,  Marcello/'  she  whispered.  "I 
will  call  your  master." 

Marcello,  obedient  to  her  nod,  left  the  room. 

Then,  pale  and  trembling,  she  moved  to  the 
great  chair  drawn  up  before  the  fire,  and  sat 
there  with  her  slender  feet  crossed  on  the  doe- 
skin rug.  She  was  a  dazzling  apparition  in  that 

192 


"OH,  JEANNE,  JEANNE,  SWEETHEART! 

dreary  room,  sitting  so  still,  so  cold,  in  her  sil- 
ver brocade  and  laces.  Ashamed,  though  im- 
penitent, she  wondered  what  Laville  would  think 
of  her  untimely  call.  She  had  thought  of  noth- 
ing but  his  safety  when  she  set  out,  but  when 
she  looked  about  at  the  great  bare  room  with 
the  muskets  on  the  walls,  the  arms  and  ac- 
coutrements, the  books,  pipes,  and  other  appur- 
tenances of  bachelorhood,  she  swiftly  realized 
the  awkwardness  of  her  position. 

She  sat  close  to  the  table  upon  which  the  drink- 
ing-cups,  powder-horns,  revolvers,  and  a  pair  of 
buckskin  gloves  lay  huddled  together.  She 
shivered  at  the  sight  of  the  weapons  so  near, 
and  reached  over  and  took  up  one  of  the  soiled 
gloves.  She  held  it  a  moment  in  her  hand,  me- 
chanically noting  the  impress  of  the  long,  slen- 
der fingers  in  the  worn  leather.  She  held  it 
closely  in  her  hands,  and  with  a  sudden  emo- 
tion touched  it  caressingly  with  her  lips. 

"Oh,  Julian,  Julian!" 

She  sobbed  aloud  and  dropped  her  head  on 
the  table,  still  clasping  the  gauntlet. 

A  profound  silence  reigned  in  the  large  room. 
Laville  awoke  suddenly  and  gazed  dreamily 
about,  wondering  at  the  strange  red  garment 
on  the  chair  near  the  bed  and  the  bright  form 
between  him  and  the  fire.  He  thought  he  was 
still  dreaming,  but  when  he  leaned  forward  he 
recognized  Jeanne,  and  the  sound  of  her  sobs 

193 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

came  to  him.  He  rose  and  crossed  the  floor 
to  her  side.  "Jeanne!"  He  called  her  name 
incredulously,  and  gazed  down  upon  her  bowed 
head  with  radiant  face  and  burning  eyes.  For 
a  moment  his  emotions  overpowered  him. 

The  glove  dropped  to  the  floor,  and  Jeanne 
rose  quickly  to  her  feet  and  faced  him. 

A  dead  silence  followed.  The  dismal  call  of 
an  owl  came  from  the  woods  and  made  Jeanne 
shudder.  All  her  pride,  daring,  and  beauty 
were  up  in  arms,  but  her  wilfulness  was  gone, 
and  she  met  Laville's  inquiring  gaze  with  a  shy 
grace  and  proud  bearing. 

"I  am  sorely  pressed,"  she  burst  forth,  in  pas- 
sionate abandonment.  "In  all  the  world  I  do 
not  know  whom  to  trust  but  you." 

Laville's  heart  went  out  to  her  in  a  great  long- 
ing. He  wanted  to  clasp  her  to  his  heart  and 
soothe  her  troubles,  but  he  folded  his  arms  across 
his  breast,  and  his  eyes  grew  absolutely  fierce 
with  a  stricken  sense  of  helplessness.  She  had 
come  to  him  for  help. 

"Sweetheart,  what  is  mine  is  yours  to  com- 
mand— my  sword — my  name — my  life.  They 
are  all  for  you." 

She  made  a  quick  negative  motion  of  her  head 
and  pressed  her  hands  convulsively  against  her 
bosom.  The  red  rose  which  had  been  pinned 
there  stained  her  white  skin,  and  a  few  shattered 
petals  fell  to  the  floor.  The  vagrant  light  from 

194 


"OH,  JEANNE,  JEANNE,  SWEETHEART!" 

the  burning  logs  on  the  hearth  brought  out  every 
curve  of  her  graceful  form,  touching  the  crown 
of  her  powdered  head,  and  a  few  dishevelled 
strands  of  loose  hair  falling  at  the  nape  of  her 
white  neck. 

She  looked  so  helpless,  so  miserable.  La- 
ville  would  have  willingly  laid  down  his  life  for 
her  at  that  moment.  He  shook  himself  like  a 
chained  lion  and  stretched  out  his  hand  to  grasp 
her  arm. 

"Let  me  help  you." 

He  faltered  and  paused,  then  turned  his  eyes 
resolutely  away  from  her.  She  saw  the  tender- 
ness and  entreaty  in  his  face,  and  put  her  slim 
jewelled  hand  in  his  brown  palm,  which  closed 
over  it  like  a  vise.  Her  cheeks  grew  crimson 
and  her  eyes  were  humid. 

"I  came  to  ask  a  favor." 

"It  is  granted  before  you  ask  it." 

"I  have  some  valuable  papers  which  I  want 
you  to  keep  for  me.  You  love  danger;  it  may 
mean  that  for  you,  if  you  keep  them  for  me." 

She  drew  a  small  package  of  papers  from  her 
bosom  and  handed  it  to  him.  He  took  the  pack- 
et gravely  and  raised  it  to  his  lips  with  a  smile. 

"  They  are  of  priceless  value  to  me — they  have 
been  near  you." 

She  detected  the  unsteadiness  in  his  voice  and 
shivered. 

"If  they  are  found,  they  mean  death  to  one — 
195 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

to  one  I — love,"  she  faltered.  "Keep  them  safe 
until  I  ask  for  them.  On  your  life  I  beg  you 
not  to  give  them  up — it  would  ruin  me."  She 
spoke  hurriedly,  passionately.  "You  have  said 
you  are  at  my  service.  Swear  that  you  will 
never  hand  them  over  to  any  one  until  I  give 
you  leave — you  will  swear?" 

She  drew  her  hand  from  his  and  clasped  it 
impetuously,  her  passionate  eyes  looking  up  at 
him,  her  face  all  aglow.  He  stooped  arid  kissed 
one  of  her  white  hands. 

"As  you  command.  I  swear  by— by  my  love 
for  you — but  whom  do  you  love?" 

There  was  a  tone  of  demand  in  his  voice  and 
the  rough  impatience  of  a  man  wrho  would  be 
obeyed.  She  snatched  her  hand  from  his  warm 
embrace  haughtily. 

"You  are  forgetting  your  promise,  Captain 
Laville.  You  have  no  right  to  question  me." 

The  beating  of  her  heart  almost  choked  her, 
and  she  clasped  her  hands  to  her  breast  to  stifle 
the  tumult. 

"Can  you  not  be  generous  for  once?  I — I 
came  to  you  for  help — you  are  making  my  task 
hard,  and  I  thought  I  was  so  sure  of  you." 

"Jeanne,  Jeanne," — then,  quickly  recovering 
himself — "forgive  me,  sweetheart.  I  have  no 
right  to  speak  thus."  He  dared  not  look  at  her, 
knowing  that  he  would  be  tempted  to  take  her 
in  his  arms.  She  had  come  to  him  for  help  and 

196 


"OH,  JEANNE,  JEANNE,  SWEETHEART!" 

not  for  love.  He  must  control  himself.  He 
turned  from  her  and  stooped  down  and  took  the 
soiled  leather  gauntlet  from  the  floor,  kissing 
the  hem  of  her  skirt  as  he  bent  forward. 

"I  know  I  have  no  right  to  speak  so,  but 
I  have  been  so  much  alone.  Have  you  ever 
thought  what  this  life  off  here  in  this  new  land 
means?  Forgive  my  blundering  if  you  can." 

A  quick  sigh  shivered  through  her  frame.  She 
dropped  her  hands  to  her  sides  in  silent  misery. 

"  A  little  kindness — a  little  love — is  not  much. 
It  is  only  a  great  love  that  teaches  restraint, 
and  one  must  always  think  of  others,"  she  said. 

"  But  I  would  deem  a  world  of  others  well  lost 
for  you.  If  you  loved  me,  my  first,  my  only 
thought  \vould  be  you — you.  Here  in  this  wil- 
derness we  recognize  no  laws.  I  love  you;  I 
would  take  you  away,  worship  you,  honor  and 
protect  you,  holding  you  purer  than  all  women 
in  the  world  always.  Oh,  Jeanne,  Jeanne,  if 
you  only  loved  me  I" 

"You  must  learn  to  give  up  the  things  you 
want  most.  It  is  part  of  life. "  Her  impassioned 
face  and  low,  vibrant  voice  moved  him  unspeak- 
ably. 

"If  I  give  you  up,"  he  replied,  "it  is  only 
because  I  must,  not  that  I  think  it  right.  If 
there  is  a  God  beyond  the  stars,  He  does  not  sit 
in  judgment  on  what  nature  has  put  in  our 
hearts." 

197 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

Jeanne  stood  silent,  her  heart  beating  tumultu- 
ously.  The  old  conflict  between  love  and  duty 
stirred  her  to  the  depths. 

"Oh,  sweetheart,  surely  you  must  see  you  are 
mine.  My  love  must  awaken  some  response  in 
you.  Jeanne,  have  you  no  feeling,  or  are  you 
ice  to  all  men?"  He  groaned  audibly,  the  mus- 
cles about  his  mouth  tightening. 

He  did  not  move  towards  her,  but  Jeanne  could 
see  the  desolation  of  his  face.  She  could  hardly 
bear  the  agony  of  it.  She  gave  a  sudden,  con- 
vulsive sob  and  spoke  with  mute  entreaty : 

"  Ah,  surely  there  is  another  world  somewhere 
— a  place  where  there  are  no  broken  hearts." 

Her  voice  trembled,  and  she  was  pale  as 
death.  The  battle  between  her  ideals  and  the 
fierce  temptation  of  his  love  sorely  oppressed  her. 

He  drew  nearer  to  her.  "Yes,  yes,  Jeanne, 
there  is  a  world — another  world — a  heaven  we 
can  make  for  ourselves.  You  are  mine  by  a 
higher  power  than  that  of  this  world.  A  priest 
has  no  authority  to  make  a  wrong  right.  High- 
er than  any  laws  of  men,  higher  than  any  power 
on  earth,  is  the  affinity  of  the  human  soul.  By 
that,  Jeanne,  you  belong  to  me." 

Her  face  grew  strangely  sweet  as  she  spoke, 
fearing  to  lift  her  eyes  to  his  face. 

"  You  have  brought  so  much  joy  into  my  life, 
and  in  spite  of  the  heartaches  and  pain,  it  is 
something  to  have  experienced  a  great  gladness 

198 


"OH,  JEANNE,  JEANNE,  SWEETHEART!" 

— do  not  spoil  it  now — do  not  take  the  memory 
away — " 

He  looked  at  her  with  anguished  scrutiny. 

"And  you  do  care  a  little?" 

He  felt  how  utterly  desolate  life  lay  before  him 
and  longed  to  break  down  her  resistance. 

"Oh,  Jeanne,  Jeanne,  sweetheart!  I  cannot 
bear  to  think  what  life  will  be  without  you. 
Must  we  go  our  ways  alone?" 

She  suddenly  looked  up  at  him  in  her  old  mag- 
netic way,  her  head  erect  and  her  eyes  shining 
like  stars,  though  her  lips  trembled  when  she 
spoke. 

"We  must  be  true  to  our  ideals.  You  forget 
my  duty — my  honor." 

Laville  bent  his  head,  with  an  impatient  move- 
ment of  his  hands.  To  the  wild  cry  of  his  soul 
there  seemed  to  be  no  answer. 

"  Honor,"  he  repeated,  bitterly.  "  Nature  never 
intended  so  gross  an  injustice  as  marriage  with- 
out love.  Leave  me,  rob  me  of  all  life  holds  dear, 
go  back  to  your  own  people,  where  I  can  never 
see  you  again,  but  sunder  yourself  from  Poche, 
Jeanne.  I  can  endure  separation,  anything,  if 
you  will  only  be  true  to  yourself." 

She  breathed  softly. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  it  is  the  spiritual  within  us  that 
brings  us  nearer  divinity — and  I  want  your  best 
thoughts—" 

Every  nerve  thrilled  under  her  confession.    He 
199 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

stretched  out  his  hands  to  her  in  earnest  plead- 
ing. 

"The  loves,  the  fears,  the  very  frailties  that 
are  born  with  you,  Jeanne,  make  you  dear  to 
me.  What  matter  if  my  day  be  short,  it  would 
be  happy  to  the  end  if  I  had  you  always  to  love 
and  shield  with  my  strength.  Sweetheart,  I  love 
you  with  the  best  that  is  in  me.  I  would  not 
grieve  you  nor  abuse  your  faith,  but  if  there  were 
nothing  in  this  wide  world  to  keep  us  apart,  I 
could  make  you  love  me/'  he  cried,  fiercely. 

She  drew  back  with  a  startled  cry. 

"  Don't  be  afraid.  I  swear  I  won't  touch  you. 
No  man  cares  for  a  caress  from  the  woman  he 
loves  unless  it  is  freely  given/'  He  stooped 
and  kissed  the  bottom  of  her  skirt.  "I  kneel 
to  you,  my  life!  I  shall  always  kneel  to  you. 
Oh,  Jeanne,  Jeanne,"  catching  her  hands  fran- 
tically, "do  you  know  the  battle  I  have  been 
fighting,  fighting  for  something  dearer  than 
life?  And  yet — nothing  in  life  is  worth  what 
I  have  gained — no  power,  no  fame.  The  ideal 
world  I  have  built  is  all  my  own.  Into  it  there 
has  come  one  real  thing — my  love  for  you — 
that  is  perfect  beyond  any  doubting,  a  wild  rapt- 
ure that  fires  me  with  the  rashest  impulses. 
Jeanne,  sweetheart,  you  are  sacrificing  both  of 
us  for  shadows.  I  have  never  seen  Poche.  What 
do  I  care  if  your  life  has  been  bound  to  his?  I 
think  of  you  as  a  girl — my  lady  Jeanne.  If  I 

200 


"OH,  JEANNE,  JEANNE,  SWEETHEART!" 

had  known  you  in  France  it  might  have  been 
different.  Now  you  belong  to  me — mine  to  love, 
to  care  for  all  my  days.  Jeanne,  if  you  could 
only  care  for  me  a  little." 

He  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  she  dropped  back  in 
her  chair.  She  who  had  been  so  proud,  so  calm, 
a  moment  before  began  now  to  tremble.  She 
stretched  out  her  hand  gropingly. 

"Hush,  hush!" 

"Then  take  your  hand  away,"  he  cried,  in 
a  thick  voice.  "Don't  tempt  me,  Jeanne.  I 
am  trying  to  be  brave,  but  it  is  no  use — no 
use."  " 

All  at  once  she  rose  quickly  and  faced 
him,  her  eyes  flashing  and  her  bosom  heav- 
ing. 

"Your  honor  and  mine,  have  you  forgotten 
that?" 

"It  is  an  empty  word,"  he  said,  fiercely.  "I 
could  take  you  away  in  the  face  of  everything. 
I  want  to  crush  you  in  my  arms  and  smother 
you  with  love.  Oh,  Jeanne,  Jeanne,  you  must, 
you  shall  love  me!" 

"Stop,  stop!"  she  cried.     "I  will  not  listen." 

"But  you  shall!  Do  you  care  not  what  be- 
comes of  me?  Well,  remember;  when  I  go,  it 
will  be  forever.  Unless  you  send  for  me,  I  will 
never  come  back,  and  then  if  you  do,  it  must 
mean  that  you  love  me  as  I  love  you." 

She  flew  by  him  like  the  wind,  frightened  by 
201 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

the  vehemence  of  his  mad  suggestions,  and 
disappeared  under  the  shadows  of  the  mag- 
nolias. 

Laville  caught  up  his  hat  and  sword  and  fol- 
lowed her  out  into  the  night. 


€  I 


CHAPTER  XVI 


GOOD-BYE,    MY     CAPTAIN 


IN  following  Jeanne,  Laville  was  careful  not 
to  overtake  her,  but  he  kept  her  in  sight  until 
he  saw  her  disappear  into  d'Artin's  house.  He 
looked  up  where  a  dim  glow  from  Jeanne's  win- 
dow shone  through  the  heavy  fog.  A  dark 
shadow  passed  between  the  window  and  the 
light.  "It  is  Jeanne/'  he  muttered.  "God  bless 
you,  sweetheart!"  Then  he  turned  abruptly  and 
walked  off  into  the  darkness  again. 

It  was  near  dawn  when  he  reached  his  cabin. 
He  had  Jeanne's  packet  in  the  bosom  of  his 
doublet,  and  so  felt  some  alarm  when  two  figures 
came  from  the  shadows  of  his  own  door  to  meet 
him.  His  fears  were  instantly  allayed,  however, 
when  he  recognized  de  Beauchamp,  a  brother  of- 
ficer, and  his  friend  d'Hernenville. 

"Back  at  last,"  said  de  Beauchamp.  "Sang 
Dieu !  we've  been  waiting  this  past  hour  for  you. 
Here's  a  letter  from  the  governor  for  you.  You 
are  a  lucky  dog,  Laville,  and  yet  in  a  manner  I 
pity  you,  for  it  means  that  you  are  to  go  to  Fort 
Rosalie,  where  you  will  be  under  Chopart.  He 

203 


THE     KING'S     MESSENGER 

is  a  tyrannical  devil,  and  makes  himself  more 
odious  to  the  officers  and  Indians  every  day. 
This  looks  a  little  like  Rossart's  work.  It  ap- 
pears you  are  not  ordered  to  Fort  Rosalie  on 
duty,  but  on  a  sort  of  a  go-as-you-please  trip — 
the  danger  without  the  honor/'  he  added,  with 
a  shrug,  "if  there  should  be  any." 

"Chopart  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  La- 
ville,"  remarked  d'Hernenville.  "Captain,  you 
are  merely  requested  to  see  if  reinforcements 
are  needed  at  Fort  Rosalie.  Pe"rier  and  Ros- 
sart  have  heard  that  the  soldiers  there  are  with- 
out sufficient  arms  and  ammunition.  They 
have  also  learned  that  Chopart  is  treating  the 
Indians  with  extreme  cruelty.  I  believe  the 
trouble  originated  over  the  village  of  White  Ap- 
ple, upon  which  Chopart  has  a  covetous  eye." 

Laville  smiled,  but  inwardly  he  felt  some  un- 
easiness at  this  new  move,  especially  if  Rossart 
had  anything  to  do  with  it. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  he.  "if  I  am  to  leave 
New  Orleans  to-day,  let  us  drink  to  the  success 
of  my  mission." 

He  opened  the  door  and,  signing  to  the  others 
to  follow  him,  walked  into  the  room  so  lately 
occupied  by  Jeanne.  A  faint  odor  of  roses  still 
lingered  in  the  chamber. 

"You  are  almost  feminine  in  your  preferences 
for  sweet-smelling  perfumes,"  said  deBeauchamp, 
throwing  himself  in  the  great  chair  where  Jeanne 

204 


"GOOD-BYE,    MY     CAPTAIN" 

had  sat.  "I  say,  Laville,  that  scent  is  like  the 
confounded  stuff  Madame  Poche  affects.  Dieu, 
what  a  creature  of  luxury  she  is  !  They  say 
that  that  slave-woman  of  hers  spends  most  of 
her  time  drying  rose-petals  and  spreading  them 
in  my  lady's  clothes.  By-the-way,  that  reminds 
me,  there  is  much  gossip  in  the  colony  regard- 
ing the  caprice  that  brings  the  lady  Jeanne  here. 
Some  whisper  that  she  is  in  the  service  of  the 
king,  and  others  that  she  came  hither  to  be  near 
Rossart.  They  say  that  back  yonder  in  France 
he  was  her  lover,"  de  Beauchamp  laughed, 
carelessly.  "You  know  what  his  attentions  to 
any  woman  mean." 

Involuntarily  Laville  turned  on  him,  a  vindic- 
tive passion  gleaming  in  his  eyes.  He  grasped 
de  Beauchamp's  arm  violently. 

"And  could  you  stand  by  and  hear  her  de- 
filed? Pardieu!  I  would  teach  them  what  it  is 
to  speak  slightingly  of  a  woman  like  her." 

"Oh,  it  is  doubtless  false."  De  Beauchamp 
spoke  stiffly,  startled  by  Laville's  outburst. 

"False?  Sang  Dieu!  it  is  a  lie — a  cowardly 
lie!" 

Laville  relaxed  his  grip  on  the  other's  arm, 
his  eyes  suddenly  caught  by  the  red  rose  Jeanne 
had  worn,  and  wiiich  still  lay  on  the  table  like  an 
accusing  witness.  His  hand  moved  idly  about 
among  the  things  scattered  there,  and  finally 
rested  on  the  rose,  where  it  remained  for  a 

205 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

moment.     When  he  removed   it,   the  rose  was 
gone. 

"You  know  there  can  be  little  in  common  be- 
tween Madame  Poche  and  a  man  like  Rossart. 
But  let  us  change  the  subject,  gentlemen/'  he 
said,  with  a  flourish.  "Fort  Rosalie  is  more  to 
the  point  just  now." 

"Yes,"  said  de  Beauchamp.  "Fate  sends 
you  to  Fort  Rosalie,  and  after  all  it  may  be  the 
opportunity  of  your  life.  Chopart  certainly  has 
been  making  a  fool  of  himself  over  the  White 
Apple  business.  A  little  more  despotism,  and  the 
Indians  will  revolt.  If  they  should — well,  Laville, 
the  moment  is  yours.  Strike  for  Bienville  and 
Louisiana.  We  may  have  our  good  governor 
back  yet,  and  then  our  sun  will  rise  again." 

Marcello  set  out  flagons  of  wine  and  drinking- 
cups. 

"  Bravo,  Marcello, "  cried  d'Hernenville.  "  Bring 
out  the  wine,  the  good  red  wine  that  lightens  our 
hearts  and  sends  up  our  courage." 

"Laville,"  said  de  Beauchamp,  pouring  out 
some  of  the  wine  and  holding  the  bottle  high  be- 
tween himself  and  the  light,  "methinks  I  like 
the  color  of  your  vintage.  'Twas  a  good  fort- 
une that  made  me  your  friend  in  the  same  year 
our  wise  cardinal  sent  you  this  peace  offering/' 
De  Beauchamp  poured  the  liquid  down  his  throat 
at  one  draught.  He  wiped  his  dripping  beard  and 
cried  with  enthusiasm,  "  A  cup  fit  for  the  king." 

206 


"GOOD-BYE,     MY     CAPTAIN" 

They  drank  until  they  had  drained  the  flag- 
ons, and  Laville  ventured  to  suggest  that  the 
convent  bell  was  ringing,  and  it  must  be  five 
o'clock. 

"  Tut,  man,  six  is  your  hour.  When  you  have 
once  started,  you  can  go  as  if  the  devil  were 
after  you." 

De  Beauchamp  laughed,  but  in  an  instant 
grew  grave.  "There  are  times,  Laville,  when  I 
would  swear  Perier  and  Rossart  both  suspect 
you.  They  would  be  glad  to  see  you  out  of 
their  way.  You  are  not  in  high  favor  with  the 
chief  of  police.  He  does  you  the  honor  to  con- 
sider you  a  dangerous  enemy,  and  your  recall 
is  one  of  his  cherished  aims.  Of  a  truth,  man, 
if  the  Indians  should  scalp  you,  Rossart  would 
rest  easier." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Laville,  musingly,  "but  I 
shall  try  to  cheat  him  yet." 

"Bravo,  captain!  Well,  this  is  your  opportu- 
nity. The  king  and  the  India  Company  will 
not  look  with  favor  on  a  chief  of  police  who  sends 
you  on  a  mission  of  this  kind.  Rossart  ought 
to  go  himself." 

"God  knows  you  may  be  right,"  said  Laville, 
with  an  expression  of  wistful  regret  on  bis  face. 
He  was  thinking  of  Jeanne,  that  some  difficulty 
might  confront  her,  and  he  dreaded  to  leave 
her  at  this  time.  But  he  was  gracious  to  his 
companions,  and  even  merry  with  them,  as  he 

207 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

donned   his   captain's   uniform  and  hummed  a 
gay  troubadour  song : 

"  To  France  my  arm  is  due, 
My  heart  to  thee  is  true. 
Death  has  no  terror  in  the  minstrel's  eyes, 
For  love  and  glory  willingly  he  dies. 

De  Beauchamp  rose  to  his  feet,  yawning.  He 
repeated  the  last  two  lines : 

"  Death  has  no  terror  in  the  minstrel's  eyes, 
For  love  and  glory  willingly  he  dies." 

"I  don't  believe  death  has  many  terrors  for 
you,  my  friend,"  he  said,  slapping  Laville  on 
the  shoulder. 

Laville  looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment  and 
then  cried,  jovially :  "  To  the  devil  with  fear !  Who 
fears  when  there  is  but  one  end  after  all?  Here, 
Marcello,  more  wine — more  wine,  I  say,  boy. 
We'll  drink  and  forget  that  there  are  any  woes 
in  the  world.  There's  joy  in  the  wine-cup.  Come, 
comrades,  another  bumper.  Here's  to  the  god  of 
war — drink  to  him  that  he  may  send  us  stirring 
times,  for  I  swear  my  sword  is  rotting  with  rust." 

"No  breakfast  and  too  much  wine  play  the 
devil  with  a  man's  legs,"  cried  d'Hernenville, 
gayly,  "but  we'll  drink  to  your  war  god  and 
be  off." 

"For  love  and  glory  willingly  he  dies,"  sang 
de  Beauchamp,  uproariously. 

208 


"GOOD-BYE,   MY    CAPTAIN" 

"  We'll  tell  Perier  we  saw  you  off.  Good  luck, 
comrade,  and  come  back  soon.  We'll  miss  you. 
If  there  is  any  trouble  with  those  cursed  Ind- 
ians, we  know  you  are  the  man  to  teach  them 
a  lesson.  Adieu,  Laville.  The  Holy  Virgin 
protect  you." 

Both  men  wrung  Laville's  hand  and  went  off 
unsteadily.  The  moment  they  were  out  of  sight 
Laville  ordered  Marcello  to  take  away  the  flag- 
ons and  cups.  Once  alone,  he  threw  himself  on 
a  chair  and  closed  his  eyes  for  an  instant. 

"Good-bye,  little  sweetheart." 

He  remembered  the  packet.  He  had  forgotten 
it  until  that  instant.  "She  may  want  it  while  I 
am  gone." 

Then  a  dreary  hopelessness  settled  on  his 
face.  He  clinched  his  strong  hands  and  with 
erect  head  passed  from  the  house.  He  went 
slowly  along  the  rue  d'  Orleans  and  turned  into 
the  rue  de  Toulouse,  swinging  along  with  rapid 
strides  until  he  came  to  the  d'Artin  residence 
fronting  the  levee.  It  was  then  past  six  o'clock. 
He  strained  his  eyes  towards  her  window  until 
he  had  turned  the  corner  of  the  house.  It  was 
the  same  in  front;  no  one  was  in  sight.  The 
trees,  the  paths,  the  bushes,  and  all  the  little 
out-houses  were  wet  with  dew.  Everything  was 
quiet.  A  cool  wind  blew  over  the  levee,  and  a 
strong  smell  of  roses  and  jasmine  filled  the  air. 
The  sun,  shining  aslant,  sent  a  broad  golden 
o  209 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

shaft  along  the  d'Artin  property  and  covered  the 
entire  front  of  the  red  roof  and  brick  walls  with 
yellow  light.  When  he  drew  nearer  Laville  saw 
Celie  and  another  negress  chatting  together  at 
the  farther  side  of  the  house.  Their  faded  dresses 
and  giant  head  -  handkerchief  s  contrasted  pictu- 
resquely with  the  sun-glow  of  the  early  morning. 

Celie  speedily  recognized  him.  There,  in  gay 
New  Orleans,  in  that  wanton  day  of  intrigues, 
every  man  in  the  settlement  was  familiar  to  the 
house  -  servants.  Celie  knew  her  mistress  was 
often  with  Laville.  She  had  been  exposed  to 
evil  all  her  life,  and  scarcely  knew  the  differ- 
ence between  right  and  wrong. 

Laville  called  to  her  in  a  subdued  voice,  yield- 
ing to  a  sudden  thought. 

The  woman  left  her  companion  immediately 
and  went  at  once  to  him.  His  manners  were 
punctiliously  courteous  and  winning,  even  to 
inferiors.  He  held  a  scrap  of  paper  up  to  the 
light.  Upon  it  was  written : 

"  I  am  leaving  the  colony  at  once.  Is  it  possible  to  see 
you  again  for  a  few  moments?  LAVILLE." 

"Take  this  to  Madame  Poche,"  he  said,  hur- 
riedly. "  Do  not  awake  the  others.  I  shall  wait 
in  the  reception-room." 

Then  he  went  up  the  steps  and  through  the 
open  doorway  to  the  great  yellow  room  where  he 
had  spent  so  many  precious  hours  with  Jeanne. 

210 


"GOOD-BYE,   MY     CAPTAIN" 

Celie  had  kindled  a  small  fire,  and  he  seated  him- 
self comfortably  in  front  of  it,  thoughtful  and  dis- 
turbed, with  a  sad  perplexity  in  his  face. 

"  If  I  could  only  see  my  way  clear/'  he  groaned. 
"  Poor  little  woman,  with  no  one  to  protect  her!" 

He  shook  with  a  mighty  wrath  at  the  thought 
that  somewhere  in  the  world  there  was  a  man 
whose  name  she  bore  and  who  should  have  been 
her  protector.  His  mind  was  filled  with  a  pro- 
found sense  of  the  confusion  and  injustice  of 
life.  He  looked  through  the  window  and  far 
across  the  rose-bordered  walk  to  the  green  levee. 
The  willow  hedge  on  the  bank  undulated  with 
the  breeze  and  was  luminous  in  the  morning 
light.  Laville  had  no  strength  left  to  think  or 
plan.  He  could  only  dream  of  Jeanne  as  he 
saw  her  first — sunny  serene,  light-hearted,  and 
then  of  the  pathos  in  her  eyes  last  night.  Sud- 
denly, without  warning,  as  noiselessly  as  a  sum- 
mer breeze,  she  came  down  the  stairs  and  stood 
beside  him  before  he  knew  she  was  there.  She 
wore  a  white  negligee  robe,  soft  and  clinging, 
with  open  sleeves  and  a  lace  kerchief  knotted 
about  her  throat.  Her  hair  was  without  pow- 
der, and  her  eyes,  pathetic,  wondering,  were  up- 
turned to  his.  Had  the  magnetism  of  her  pres- 
ence been  less  potent,  Laville  would  have  been 
more  guarded;  but  the  mere  sight  of  her  made 
him  happy  and  as  a  man  inspired. 

Jeanne,  without  knowing  why,  laughed  fear- 
211 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

lessly,  and  yet  there  was  a  tense,  nervous  ring 
in  her  voice.  The  full  morning  light  from  the 
windows  fell  upon  her,  and  in  spite  of  the  care- 
less little  laugh,  Laville  could  see  the  muscles 
about  her  mouth  quiver  and  the  piteous  inquiry 
deepen  in  her  eyes. 

"Jeanne,  I  could  not  go  without  seeing  you 
again/' 

"But  why  didn't  you  say  something  of  it  be- 
fore— before  I  left  you  last  night?" 

"I  did  not  know  then  that  I  was  going." 

The  fire  on  the  hearth  crackled  and  sent  tiny 
sparks  out  on  the  floor. 

"  Jeanne,  if  you  need  me,  I  will  stay  even  now." 

She  shook  her  head  negatively. 

"But  your  duty — and — mine — "  She  almost 
forgot  her  caution.  "  Captain  Laville,  my  friend, 
we  must  think  of  our  duty — 

"I  hate  that  word,"  he  said,  impatiently. 
"  What  have  we  to  do  with  duty?  But  I  will  do 
whatever  you  wish,  Jeanne.  Forgive  me  for  last 
night — I  would  not  grieve  you  for  the  world." 

"  And  I  shall  always  think  of  the  happy  times 
we  have  had  together/'  she  said.  "You  must 
go — you  must  fight  for  France  in  the  years  to 
come — for  Louisiana.  I  love  Louisiana,  for  in 
Louisiana  I  met  you — my  friend — " 

"I  did  not  know  I  was  going  away  when  I 
accepted  your  letters,"  he  said,  with  a  drawn 
look  in  his  face.  "Do  you  want  them  back?  It 

212 


"GOOD-BYE,     MY    CAPTAIN" 

was  because  of  them  I  came  here  this  morning. 
I  will  not  be  gone  long.  I  am  only  going  to 
Fort  Rosalie  on  a  mission  of  investigation." 

"Trouble  with  the  Indians?" 

He  thought  she  turned  pale. 

"  There  is  some  imminent  trouble  with  the  Ind- 
ians, I  believe.  It  is  a  question  of  supplies  and 
ammunition  that  takes  me  there.  When  I  learn 
of  the  condition  of  things  I  am  free  to  return  at 
any  moment.  But  there  is  no  longer  the  same 
joy  here,  Jeanne — I  cannot  see  you  as  I  have 
been  doing  these  many  months  —  I  —  am  not 
strong  enough  for  that.  Perchance  in  the  course 
of  time  we  may  some  day  stand  on  equal  ground. 
Now  you  are  so  far  off — so  cold,  like  a  pale  moon- 
beam that  has  never  been  warmed  by  the  sun. 
Remember,  Jeanne,  if  the  day  ever  comes  when 
you  need  me,  when  you  feel  your  life  is  not  com- 
plete without  mine,  you  will  find  me  waiting — a 
strong  man,  ready  to  defend  you,  your  lover — 
waiting  for  the  future  that  will  bring  us  together." 

She  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  with  a  yearn- 
ing look  on  her  face,  and  when  she  spoke  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Hush,  my  captain ;  in  every  earnest  life  there 
must  be  some  sacrifice." 

Both  were  silent  for  a  few  minutes.  In  their 
lives  there  had  been  very  little  happiness.  Hers 
had  been  brilliant,  it  is  true,  in  that  far  away 
French  court.  He  had  been  a  good  comrade,  a 

213 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

firm  friend,  a  brave  soldier,  though  often  won- 
dering what  life  lacked.  That  moment  was 
fraught  with  sweetness  for  both,  though  they 
remained  quiet  with  the  quietness  of  death. 

He  lifted  his  head  at  last  and  looked  about  the 
familiar  room. 

"God  knows  best.  He  did  not  send  you  into 
my  life  for  naught.  I  must  live  on  without  you ; 
but  men  have  to  do  things  that  wring  their  souls, 
and—" 

Whatever  he  would  have  said  was  cut  short 
by  a  sudden  movement  in  the  hall.  Laville  rose 
to  his  feet  and  turned  to  the  door  just  as  Madame 
d'Artin  appeared  in  haste. 

"I  thought  I  heard  voices,  and  I  feared  there 
might  be  some  fresh  Indian  trouble,  so  I  stole 
down  to  see." 

"No  real  trouble/'  said  Laville,  "but  I  am  go- 
ing to  Fort  Rosalie,  and  I  wanted  to  see  Madame 
Poche  particularly  before  leaving,  so  presumed 
upon  my  friendship  here  to  dare  intrude  at  this 
early  hour." 

"It  is  no  intrusion,"  replied  Madame  d'Artin. 
"  Jeanne  is  not  generally  down  at  this  hour,  but 
I  should  have  been  glad  to  carry  your  mes- 
sage. Are  you  to  be  away  long,  Captain  La- 
ville?" 

"No,  I  think  not.  The  governor  thinks  we 
had  better  see  how  Rosalie  is  garrisoned.  The 
Indians  in  that  region  have  been  a  trifle  uneasy 

214 


"GOOD-BYE,  MY    CAPTAIN" 

of  late,  and  Governor  Perier  believes  in  being 
prepared." 

"I  am  so  glad  it  is  not  a  war  mission.  The 
very  thought  of  war  has  such  terror  for  me/' 

"I  am  expected  to  leave  to-day,"  said  Laville. 
"A  boat  sails  up  the  river  this  morning,  and  I 
must  catch  it.  So,  adieu,  ladies." 

Jeanne's  mind  was  unsettled  about  the  packet. 
What  if  her  husband  should  come?  She  dare 
not  keep  the  packet  with  her — it  was  safe  with 
Laville — he  would  be  back  soon. 

She  turned  to  Madame  d'Artin  with  sudden 
resolution. 

"Come,  Luce,  let  us  walk  to  the  levee  with 
Captain  Laville.  See  how  the  sun  shines !  There 
is  no  tonic  like  a  breath  of  fresh  morning  air." 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  wilful  and  impetuous. 

"But  the  dew,  Jeanne.  You  forget  this  Lou- 
isiana moisture  is  like  rain." 

"Prudence  becomes  age,  chtirie.  It  is  only 
youth  and  —  love  that  take  grave  chances." 
She  smiled  confidently  and  drew  madame  to 
her  with  gentle  persuasion. 

"Come — my  captain." 

Laville  fancied  he  detected  a  serious  earnest- 
ness underlying  her  arch  smile  and  a  strange 
emphasis  in  her  words.  He  was  a  strong  man, 
yet  for  a  moment  he  faltered. 

"Come,  both  of  you,"  she  repeated,  peremp- 
torily. "We  shall  pretend  you  are  going  to 

215 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

war,  Captain  Laville,  and  that  I  am  your  lady 
fair/' 

He  bowed,  with  grave  wondering  in  his  heart. 

"Jeanne,  Jeanne,  for  shame!"  cried  madame. 
"  Would  you  have  Captain  Laville  know  you  for 
a  brazen  girl?  For  shame,  I  say,  Jeanne — " 

Jeanne  drew  a  long  breath,  and  her  bosom 
rose  and  fell  tumultuously  underneath  her  loose 
gown.  But  she  was  not  to  be  gainsaid,  and 
laughed  aside  madame's  objections. 

She  linked  her  arm  in  madame's,  and  they 
left  the  house  together,  Captain  Laville  follow- 
ing. Oh,  the  misery  of  parting!  She  felt  it  en- 
tering her  very  soul,  and  yet  he  must  not  know 
— madame  must  not  know.  All  at  once  she 
started  ahead,  dragging  Madame  d'Artin  with 
nervous  energy. 

"Come,  come,  good  people,  lest  the  ship  sail 
without  the  captain." 

She  talked  recklessly,  and  started  to  sing  as 
they  walked  along : 

"  Oh,  my  dearest, 

Oh,  my  fairest, 
For  thy  favor  I  implore. 

I  will  be 

True  to  thee, 
I  will  love  thee  evermore." 

Laville  trembled  under  the  spell  of  her  voice. 
She  seemed  so  glowing,  so  full  of  life  and  inex- 

216 


"GOOD-BYE,  MY    CAPTAIN" 

pressible  witchery.  How  could  she  be  so  happy 
when  she  knew  he  was  leaving  her?  "  She  does 
not  care/'  he  thought,  bitterly.  "I  was  a  fool 
to  think  it." 

The  sedate  Madame  d'Artin  was  vexed  and  an- 
noyed. She  could  not  understand  Jeanne's  moods. 

"You  irritate  me,  Jeanne,"  she  said.  "You 
are  heartless,  child.  It  becomes  you  not  to  ap- 
pear so  gay  when  parting  with  a  friend.  Is  it 
not  so,  Captain  Laville?" 

Her  voice  startled  Laville.  He  had  forgotten 
her  presence,  and  only  saw  Jeanne,  with  her  pas- 
sionate eyes  fixed  upon  him  in  mute  pleading. 
He  knew  it  was  folly,  but  every  nerve  thrilled 
under  her  glance,  and  the  rich  perfume  from  her 
garments  oppressed  him.  He  answered  Madame 
d'Artin  as  though  in  a  dream. 

"Yes,  one  is  usually  oppressed  with  sad 
thoughts  when  parting  with  friends." 

"Life  is  uncertain,"  said  madame,  compla- 
cently. "We  never  know  what  will  happen." 

She  walked  along  beside  Laville,  while  Jeanne 
tarried  near  one  of  the  rose-bushes. 

"  I  will  be 

True  to  thee, 
I  will  love  thee  evermore." 

She  hummed  the  words  softly,  almost  to  her- 
self. 

"  Go  back  and  bring  Jeanne,  Captain  Laville," 
217 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

said  Madame  d'Artin,  irritably.  "At  this  rate 
you  will  fail  to  reach  the  ship.  Do  tell  her  that 
she  must  keep  pace  with  us." 

Madame  sailed  majestically  forward,  while 
Laville  hurried  back  to  Jeanne. 

The  sunlight  was  falling  straight  upon  her 
flushed  face.  She  saw  Laville  look  at  her  with 
an  inquiring  countenance,  but  she  bore  the  scru- 
tiny with  composure,  and  looked  up  at  him  with 
well-feigned  surprise. 

"  What  brings  you  back?  I  deemed  your  hur- 
ry great/' 

"But  you  lingered." 

"I  forgot  for  a  moment.  I  stopped  to  pluck 
this  rose." 

She  did  not  look  at  him,  but  let  her  eyes  wan- 
der over  the  wall  of  roses. 

"I  came  for  you — you — you!"  he  cried,  pas- 
sionately. "  If  you  called,  I  would  go  to  the  end 
of  the  world  for  you.  Jeanne,  Jeanne,  say  you 
meant  those  words." 

"What  words?" 

"The  song  —  the  one  you  were  singing  just 
now." 

She  hummed  softly  and  smiled  brilliantly  up 
at  him.  Ah,  so  variable,  so  coquettish,  and  so 
fascinating ! 

"Did  you  mean  the  words  for  me?"  he  de- 
manded, hoarsely.  "Tell  me.  I  would  give  my 
soul  to  know." 

218 


"GOOD-BYE,    MY     CAPTAIN" 

She  still  hummed  the  refrain — "  I  will  love  thee 
evermore " — but  at  his  question  she  stopped  and 
capriciously  swept  past  him. 

"Come,  my  captain,  lest  the  sailors  leave  you 
behind.  Yonder  is  Luce  on  the  levee,  waiting 
for  me.  Farewell,  Captain  Laville;  a  fair  wind 
and  a  safe  return." 

There  was  a  little  catch  in  her  voice. 

He  started.  A  change  had  passed  over  her 
face,  and  he  wondered  to  find  her  hand  so  cold. 
They  stood  a  moment  in  silence.  In  an  instant 
the  old  battle  was  on  him  again.  How  could  he 
be  strong  with  that  impassioned  face  so  near  his 
own? 

"You  inspire  me  with  new  courage/'  he  said, 
earnestly.  "Mine,  mine  in  the  end,  Jeanne. 
Say  it  will  be  so." 

Her  mood  changed  again,  and  she  laughed  up 
in  his  face,  a  wanton,  joyous  laugh.  He  turned 
abruptly  from  her,  his  face  ablaze  with  anger. 

She  watched  him  for  a  moment,  with  some- 
thing pulling  at  her  heart-strings  and  tears  dan- 
gerously near  an  overflow.  She  could  not  bear 
that  he  should  go  from  her  with  that  look  on  his 
face.  She  raised  her  voice  and  called,  gently : 

"Good-bye,  my  captain." 

But  Laville  did  not  look  back. 

When  he  turned  the  corner  and  was  lost  to 
view,  she  joined  Madame  d'Artin  on  the  levee. 
She  tried  desperately  to  smile  when  she  reached 

219 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

madame's  side,  but  reeled  and  fell  limpty  to  the 
ground,  and  buried  her  pallid  face  in  madame's 
lap.  She  had  found  it  easy  to  bid  Laville  leave 
her,  and  to  feign  a  semblance  of  joy  while  he 
was  with  her,  but  now  that  he  was  gone,  her 
heart  melted  within  her  and  strength  failed  her. 

"I  wish  him  to  be  always  happy,"  she  mur- 
mured, under  her  breath. 

"What  is  that  you  are  saying,  Jeanne? 
How  tired  you  look,  child!  A  moment  ago,  and 
you  were  like  a  bird,  and  now — nry  child!" 

Jeanne  raised  her  face  and  smiled.  "Dear 
Luce,"  was  all  she  said  as  she  patted  madame's 
cheek.  Then  her  gaze  travelled  to  the  market- 
place and  on  beyond  to  the  anchorage  where  she 
kne\v  the  vessel  was  preparing  to  clear. 

What  a  picture  it  made — the  shipping,  the 
bales  of  merchandise,  the  busy  decks  of  strain- 
ed timbers,  where  a  girl  sat  listening  to  an  old 
man  in  a  rough  seaman's  dress,  her  red  petticoat 
a  bright  bit  of  color  mid  the  gray  tones;  the 
broad  sunlight  on  the  man's  neutral-tinted  jack- 
et, the  half-glooms  and  deeper  shadows  changing 
with  the  ever-moving  life.  They  were  strong; 
they  had  a  place  to  fill  in  the  world.  Several 
men,  a  soldier,  and  two  coureurs  des  bois,  the 
latter  dressed  in  skins,  with  picturesque  leggings 
and  moccasins,  went  aboard.  She  knew  the  last 
two  very  well  as  hardy  sons  of  the  soil,  who  con- 
veyed goods  imported  from  France  to  the  far- 

220 


"GOOD-BYE,   MY    CAPTAIN" 

thest  Indian  villages.  They  were  men  of  en- 
durance, brave,  and  would  be  faithful  friends 
for  Laville  in  case  of  trouble  with  the  Indians. 
She  shuddered.  The  very  thought  made  her 
soul  sick.  But  where  was  Laville?  Ah,  yes,  at 
last — there  he  was,  and  Jupiter  with  him.  She 
saw  him  pause  on  the  deck  and  look  her  way. 
Then  he  took  off  his  plumed  hat  and  waved  it 
with  a  free  grace;  she  snatched  a  scarf  from  her 
neck  and  returned  his  salute. 

"Thou  hast  made  for  me  so  many  happy 
days,"  she  murmured.  "I  think  I  never  knew 
joy  before."  She  waved  the  blue  banner  again. 
"  Oh,  God,  I  cannot,  I  cannot  bear  to  give  him 
up." 

"Jeanne,  Jeanne!"  cried  madame.  "What 
ails  you,  child?" 

Jeanne  grew  very  cold,  and  suddenly  looked 
fearfully  back  towards  the  town  where  the  sober 
industries  of  civil  strife  went  on.  She  saw  a 
dark  figure  hurrying  through  the  Place  d'Armes 
which  instinctively  she  knew  to  be  Rossart.  Her 
wandering  gaze  turned  back  to  the  d'Artin  house 
half  hidden  behind  the  magnolia-trees.  The 
garden  looked  wet  and  forsaken,  and  the  mag- 
nolias were  hung  with  great,  heavy  seed-pods. 
The  rose-vines  on  the  gallery  waved  incessantly, 
and  the  sun  rays  tinged  the  walls  of  the  house 
and  lingered  over  the  solitary  garden.  It  was 
all  so  cold  and  lonely;  all  the  world  was  cold, 

221 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

and  she  shivered.  Unbidden  tears  coursed  down 
her  cheeks;  they  were  foolish  tears,  she  knew, 
mute  witnesses  of  her  sorrowful  heart.  She  for- 
got herself,  forgot  Madame  d'Artin,  and  thought 
only  of  the  tender  memories  recalled  by  the  gar- 
den. 

"They  were  joyous  days.  Alas!  little  gar- 
den, the  past  can  never  come  back — good-bye, 
good-bye,  dear  days,  and  a  long  farewell,  my 
captain." 

She  looked  for  the  ship  again.  She  shivered 
with  a  nervous  chill  as  the  report  of  a  gun  boom- 
ed across  the  water.  A  cheer  went  up.  God 
help  her!  The  ship  had  hoisted  anchor  and 
swung  majestically  out  into  midstream.  Slow- 
ly, like  a  great  white  phantom,  it  sailed  outward, 
tacking  under  full  canvas,  onward  up  the  river. 

Jeanne  gazed  at  the  flying  white  sails  spread 
like  wings  of  silver-gray  in  a  sea  of  azure — gazed 
at  the  diminishing  ship  that  bore  away  from 
her  the  best  of  her  life. 

"My  love,  my  love/'  she  moaned,  passionately. 
"God  knows  how  I  love  you — I  will  love  thee 
evermore!  But  you  must  never  know — that  is 
my  punishment." 


CHAPTER  XVII 
ROSSART'S    AMBITION 

0  OSSART  came  rapidly  along  the  road.     He 

1  \  climbed  the  grassy  levee  and  went  straight 
towards  Madame  d'Artin  and  Jeanne. 

"By  my  faith,  ladies,  you  are  brave  to  vent- 
ure out  in  the  dew." 

"  We  find  pleasure  where  and  when  it  best  suits 
us,  Monsieur  Rossart,"  said  Jeanne,  keeping  her 
face  turned  from  him. 

Rossart  smiled  with  an  indulgent  air. 

"Your  tongue  is,  as  ever,  keen  as  your  wit, 
Madame  Poche,"  he  said,  coldly,  and  turned 
towards  Madame  d'Artin. 

"Jeanne  is  in  an  ill  humor,"  said  the  latter. 
"  I  know  not  whether  it  is  her  gown  or  her  hair 
that  troubles  her." 

"Or  her  lover,"  returned  Rossart,  insinuat- 
ingly. 

Jeanne  turned  on  him  with  a  deep  scarlet  flush 
creeping  through  the  white  of  her  face.  What 
evil  was  it  that  this  man  held  suspended  over 
her  head?  Did  he  know  she  loved  Laville,  and 
would  he  injure  him  to  hurt  her?  She  could  not 

223 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

believe  that.  Laville  was  too  strong — he  could 
protect  himself;  and  now  he  was  gone  away  up 
the  river.  She  caught  the  faint  whiffs  of  salt 
water  wafted  from  the  gulf.  She  could  almost 
see  Laville  in  fancy  sailing  up  the  wide  expanse 
of  the  river.  Her  face  plainly  reflected  her 
thoughts,  and  there  was  a  tense  calmness  in  her 
manner  that  did  not  escape  Rossart. 

He  watched  her  for  a  moment  as  the  sun,  slant- 
ing across  the  levee,  fell  upon  her  uplifted  head. 
The  wind  played  in  the  willows  and  moved  the 
soft  tendrils  of  hair  on  her  forehead.  She  moved 
uneasily. 

"A  ship  has  sailed."  She  spoke  nervously 
and  rose  to  her  feet.  He  bowed,  smiling. 

"Then  the  world  has  changed  for  you,  ma- 
dame,"  he  said,  fearlessly.  "Since  Captain  La- 
ville has  left  New  Orleans,  there  must  be  a  cloud 
on  Madame  Poche's  horizon." 

Jeanne  flushed. 

"  Oh  no,  you  are  mistaken,"  interrupted  Madame 
d'Artin,  slowly.  "Jeanne  is  much  too  whimsical 
to  care  for  any  man  once  he  is  out  of  sight." 

"Whims  are  the  privilege  of  beauty.  But  it 
is  well  for  Laville  that  he  has  gone.  I  hear  that 
diligent  search  is  being  made  for  the  despatch 
from  the  king.  It  has  been  long  delayed,  and  it 
must  be  found  at  once." 

Jeanne  leaned  back  against  the  willow-tree  and 
gazed  steadily  at  Rossart  with  puzzled  inquiry. 

224 


ROSSART'S    AMBITION 

For  an  instant  they  faced  each  other,  the  one 
smiling,  the  other  questioning. 

He  stepped  close  up  to  Jeanne  and  out  of  ma- 
dame's  hearing,  and  bent  over  her  with  an  in- 
sinuating air. 

"  Madame  Poche1,  if  you  will  listen  to  me,  I  can 
save  Laville;  otherwise  he  will  have  to  plead  to 
the  king.  Louis  has  been  known  to  listen  to  a 
pretty  face,  but  never,  madame,  to  a  traitor.  My 
lady  Jeanne,  you  know  I  have  loved  you  pas- 
sionately for  years.  Surrender  yourself  to  me, 
and  I  will  promise  to  save  Laville." 

She  drew  herself  up  with  a  queenly  air  and 
answered  him  with  scornful  pride. 

"  Coward!  You  pollute  a  noble  sentiment,  and 
I  despise  you.  The  passion  that  inspires  such 
baseness  is  worthy  only  of  darkness  or  death." 

Rossart's  eyes  grew  darker  with  passion.  He 
read  the  intense  loathing  of  her  soul  in  her  face, 
and  he  felt  a  mad,  fighting  desire  to  take  her  in 
spite  of  herself. 

"I  love  you,  do  you  hear?  And  I  shall  yet 
win  you." 

She  looked  back  to  the  river.  The  whirl  of 
the  water  made  music  against  the  willow  bank; 
far  off,  among  the  sunlit  clouds,  the  ship  sailed, 
a  dark  spot  against  the  azure  sky. 

Rossart  watched  the  keen  play  of  emotions  on 
her  face,  with  his  heart  beating  fiercely  and  a 
crimson  flush  on  his  dark  cheeks. 

225 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"Do  you  know,  Madame  Poche,  that  soon  or 
late,  if  you  continue  to  torment  me  in  this  way, 
you  will  be  my  prisoner — you,  and  your  lover 
too?  Do  you  realize  what  that  means?  You  will 
be  confined  wherever  I  shall  name.  None  shall 
have  access  to  you  but  the  chief  of  police.  I  can 
visit  you  at  all  hours.  Think  of  that,  my  lady. 
You  will  belong  to  me  then.  And  Laville — 
what  think  you  he  will  do  then?  Oh,  I  shall 
humble  that  proud  head  yet.  I  have  sworn  to  win 
you  by  fair  means  or  foul,  and  it  must  be  soon." 

A  tragic  smile  flitted  over  her  features. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  you,  monsieur.  I  shall 
find  means  to  outwit  you  yet." 

She  moved  farther  from  him,  with  uplifted 
head  and  crimson  cheeks. 

"  In  the  face  of  your  brave  air,  madame,  I  can 
see_the  misery  of  your  heart,"  he  said,  quickly. 
"You  fear  for  him — that  despatch,  if  found,  will 
condemn  him." 

"You  have  no  proofs  against  him.  The  de- 
spatch has  not  been  found." 

"Thanks  to  you." 

She  smiled  serenely  and  turned  a  deeper  crimson. 

"  Smiles  will  not  become  you  later  on,  my  lady. 
I  will  find  that  despatch.  I  tell  you,  no  power  on 
earth  shall  prevent  me.  And  when  it  is  found, 
remember  that  I  warned  you  in  time  and  you 
spurned  your  opportunity." 

The  sun  shone  broadly  on  the  water,  and  on 
226 


ROSSART'S     AMBITION 

the  low  horizon  the  white  sails,  now  grown  gray 
like  the  down  on  a  gull's  breast,  shimmered 
against  the  blue  tone  of  cloud  and  water-cumuli. 
Mist  closed  the  distances  and  the  entire  landscape 
seemed  dreamlike. 

Madame  grew  restless,  sitting  alone,  with  the 
drowsy  hum  of  their  voices  coming  to  her  through 
the  sunshine.  She  rose  and  yawned  and  called 
to  Jeanne. 

"Jeanne,  the  sun  is  getting  high.  Antoine 
will  be  looking  for  us.  Let  us  go." 

She  went  down  the  green  bank,  and  Jeanne 
mechanically  looked  after  her  as  her  figure  van- 
ished behind  the  nodding  rose  wall.  The  glory 
of  her  eyes  was  dimmed.  She  knew  that  she 
was  playing  a  desperate  part.  She  looked  over 
the  water  to  the  tiny  speck  of  darkness  just  be- 
yond the  far-off  bend  in  the  river. 

Rossart  held  out  his  hand.  "Come,  my  lady 
Jeanne,  your  promise." 

She  laughed  scornfully.  "Oh,  Monsieur  Ros- 
sart, your  taunts  are  useless.  I  do  not  fear  you. 
Advance  one  step,  or  even  attempt  to  lay  a  fin- 
ger on  me,  and  I  will  call  for  help.  My  cousin 
is  within  hearing,  and  our  men  are  ever  ready 
to  resent  an  insult  to  their  women." 

"Beware,  madame,"  cried  Rossart,  baffled  and 
enraged.  "I  have  sworn  that  you  shall  belong 
to  me.  I  have  but  two  ambitions — to  possess 
that  packet — and  you,  my  scornful  beauty." 

227 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
FIGHTING    FOR    A    SHADOW 

THERE  was  a  decided  reminiscence  of  France 
in  the  formal  garden  surrounding  the  d'Artin 
residence.  It  was  laid  out  in  prim  parterres 
planted  with  lilies  and  fteur  de  luce  in  the  shady 
places;  riotous  roses  and  sweet-scented  jasmine 
bloomed  in  every  corner,  along  the  hedges,  up 
the  sides  of  the  house,  by  the  gallery,  and  in 
every  conceivable  place,  shadowing  thousands  of 
violets.  Giant  creepers  ran  up  the  trunks  of  the 
trees,  wild  heliotrope  and  sweet  olive  perfumed 
the  air,  and  blossom-laden  crape  myrtles,  plank 
ed  indiscriminately  about,  gave  a  glow  of  color 
to  the  atmosphere.  There  was  a  group  of  orange 
and  oleander  trees  near  the  house,  where  at  night 
mocking-birds  sang  until  day.  Cedar-birds  flit- 
ted from  magnolia  to  magnolia,  and  noisy  jays 
flew  in  the  more  open  spaces. 

Farthest  from  the  house  on  the  upper  side, 
and  bordered  by  close-clipped  hedges,  there  was 
a  wide  expanse  of  greensward  under  some  live- 
oaks.  Here,  late  in  the  afternoons,  after  they 
had  risen  from  their  siesta,  and  still  on  into  the 

228 


FIGHTING    FOR    A    SHADOW 

fragrant  evenings,  Madame  d'Artin  and  Jeanne 
were  wont  to  sit,  and  hither  came  the  brightest 
and  best  of  the  little  colony  to  while  away  the 
long,  sweet  hours.  Everything  was  very  deco- 
rous at  these  gatherings,  but  they  were  all  so 
gay,  so  dangerously  gay. 

About  a  month  after  Laville  had  gone,  Jeanne 
sat  there  one  evening,  dressed  in  costly  silks  and 
laces,  the  brightness  of  her  beauty  overshadowed 
by  a  retrospective  mood.  The  sun  was  low  in 
the  horizon,  and  the  warm  rays  gilded  the  rose- 
bushes and  jasmines  and  made  red  and  yellow 
paths  between  the  garden  ways.  The  sky  was 
streaked  with  crimson  and  gold,  the  levee  was 
bathed  in  a  golden  haze,  and  the  encompassing 
forests,  though  warmed  by  the  sunset  effulgence, 
looked  distant  and  unreal. 

Jeanne  sat  in  a  low  chair.  She  and  madame 
had  been  holding  court  during  the  afternoon. 
Many  wondered  why  Jeanne's  husband  was  not 
with  her,  but  she  was  young  and  attractive,  and 
the  very  daring  that  had  brought  her  appealed 
to  the  love  of  bravery  in  the  hearts  of  those  ad- 
venturous people.  Many  had  become  her  friends ; 
some  there  were  who  secretly  believed  she  was 
in  league  with  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  others 
with  Rossart,  but  all  thought  well  of  her.  Her 
wit  was  so  ready,  her  sympathy  so  warm; 
she  was  a  social  power  in  their  limited  little 
world,  and  queened  it  with  that  sovereignty 
229 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

only  to  be  found  in  a  woman's  subtle  attrac- 
tion. 

The  sun  was  sinking  when  madame  and  the 
last  of  her  guests  but  one  had  retired.  The 
Sieur  de  Glaucos  still  lingered  behind  Jeanne's 
chair.  He  had  come  last,  and  for  the  past  hour 
had  stood  silently  by,  listening  to  the  laughter 
and  the  general  murmur  of  the  gay  voices  with- 
out taking  an  active  part. 

The  odor  of  jasmine  and  roses  floated  on  the 
breeze  from  the  gay  parterres.  The  Sieur  de 
Glaucos  stood  idly  staring  over  Jeanne's  head. 
He.  like  all  the  other  men  who  came  in  con- 
tact with  Jeanne,  had  become  devoted  to  her, 
but  he  never  relinquished  the  hope  that  she  would 
yet  give  up  the  private  despatches.  He  wondered 
dreamily,  as  he  gazed  in  the  direction  of  the  for- 
est down  the  river,  how  she  preserved  her  dis- 
creet demeanor  with  her  girlish  hopes  and  plans. 
He  watched  a  tall  figure  moving  from  one  clump 
of  bushes  to  another  as  though  anxious  to  avoid 
detection.  He  did  not  think  enough  about  it, 
however,  to  allow  it  to  occupy  his  mind  beyond 
an  instant.  Finally,  when  the  skulking  form 
disappeared,  he  came  around  in  front  of  Jeanne's 
chair  and  sat  on  the  grass  at  her  feet. 

The  garden  was  now  bathed  in  the  sunset 
radiance.  The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  looked  up  ad- 
miringly at  the  young  woman  sitting  like  a 
queen  on  her  throne.  Her  dainty  feet  were 

230 


FIGHTING    FOR    A    SHADOW 

crossed  before  her,  and  through  the  delicate 
meshes  of  her  silken  hose  the  warm,  rosy  flesh 
caught  the  sun  rays.  The  ruddy  light  ca- 
ressed her  slender  white  fingers  as  she  pulled 
a  rose  to  pieces,  letting  the  petals  fall  in  her 
lap,  where  they  lay  in  a  pink  and  fragrant 
heap  on  her  flowered  silk  gown;  the  warm  light 
lay  on  the  cobwebby  lace  over  her  swelling  bos- 
om, glanced  on  her  powdered  hair,  and  lent  a 
new  beauty  to  her  soft,  sad  eyes.  That  day 
seemed  like  a  dream  to  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos. 
He  had  never  seen  a  woman  of  Jeanne's  attrac- 
tions. She  was  brilliantly  fascinating,  with  a 
wild  coquetry  in  her  manner.  What  thoughts 
were  in  those  candid  eyes?  The  old  man  dared 
not  ask.  It  seemed  impossible  that  this  young 
creature,  this  woman  so  unaffected,  so  frank, 
could  carry  about  with  her  the  momentous  anx- 
ieties of  state  affairs  that  perhaps  doomed  men 
to  prison  or  death.  He  missed  a  certain  spon- 
taneity about  her  that  had  marked  her  in  the 
first  days  of  their  meeting. 

'  What  do  you  see  away  off  there?"  he  sud- 
denly asked. 

Her  dreaming  eyes  turned  from  the  landscape 
before  them.  She  had  been  watching  the  sun- 
shine and  shadows  flitting  in  the  woods,  and  she 
looked  at  him  with  a  smile  that  seemed  a  surety 
of  good  faith. 

"I  thought  I  saw  an  Indian  moving  through 
231 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

the  tangle  of  woods  over  there/'  she  said.  "I 
imagine  it  is  one  of  the  squaws  coming  to  bar- 
ter game." 

"I  thought  perhaps  your  dreams  were  of  our 
fair  France,"  he  answered,  with  an  effort  at 
cheerfulness.  "You  had  a  very  distant  look  in 
your  eyes,  as  though  your  thoughts  were  far  off. 
But  one  can  never  be  sure  of  you." 

She  flushed  slightly  and  leaned  forward  as  if 
examining  the  grass  at  her  feet. 

"Are  you  homesick?"  There  was  a  sympa- 
thetic ring  in  his  voice. 

"  No,  not  that.  I  was  only  watching  that  dark 
shifting  figure,  and  wondering  in  a  desultory 
way  what  was  its  object,,  and  if  it  were  looking 
for  something  that  would  never  be  found — or, 
perchance,  that  would  come  too  late." 

"It  is  impossible  for  human  nature  to  be  sat- 
isfied," he  returned,  with  a  sudden  darkening  of 
his  face  as  he  took  note  of  her  words. 

"I  suppose  that  is  so,"  she  replied,  with 
thoughtful  seriousness.  "  I  used  to  think  I  was 
happy — very  happy,  but  now  I  know  it  was  only 
because  I  was  asleep." 

Her  eyes  were  filling  with  tears,  and  she  did 
not  wish  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  to  see  them.  She 
looked  about  in  vague  uncertainty,  and  shivered 
as  if  she  were  cold.  Then  her  desperate  gaze 
met  his  with  a  sad  questioning,  but  the  tears 
had  gone. 

232 


FIGHTING    FOR    A    SHADOW 

"  Sometimes  one  doubts  the  reality  of  human 
affection,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  One  hates 
to  be  misjudged.  Ah,  yes,  it  is  that  which  hurts 
us  most." 

He  looked  at  her  pityingly.  Something  in 
Jeanne's  words — or  was  it  her  voice? — stirred  the 
old  soldier  with  its  pathos. 

"You  are  so  lately  from  the  court  of  France 
that  its  cynicism  still  clings  to  you.  But  we 
who  live  so  much  alone  in  these  Louisiana  woods 
are  not  so  readily  appealed  to  by  the  ways  of  your 
world  of  fashion,  of  scandal  and  intrigue,  where 
love  is  a  mockery — a  passionate  game  of  chance, 
as  unreal  as  your  men  and  women.  I  reverence 
purity,  and  to  me  love  is  the  most  saving  grace 
in  the  world,  for,  believe  me,  little  lady,  it  is  the 
one  unfailing  power  in  the  universe." 

"Yes,  yes!"  with  a  passionate  outburst.  "It 
must  be  true,  or  else  we  wear  out  our  lives  chas- 
ing a  shadow.  Ah,  yes,  I  have  been  asleep — 
but  I  am  waking  now." 

"Too  much  knowledge  has  its  penalty,"  he 
interrupted. 

"Yes,  I  know  now.  Soon  or  late  we  wake 
up,  but,  oh,  me!  is  it  worth  while?  It  is  better 
to  sleep  sometimes."  She  paused  and  let  her 
broad,  dreamy  eyes,  reflecting  her  feelings,  rest 
wistfully  on  his. 

"You  are  disquieted,"  he  said,  kindly.  "I 
suppose  your  husband  will  be  coming  soon,  and 

233 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

then  we  shall  lose  our  sunny  little  Jeanne."  He 
spoke  earnestly,  with  a  troubled  look  in  his  fierce 
brown  eyes.  The  strident  chirr  of  a  cicada  came 
from  the  grass,  and  a  long  ray  of  crimson  sun- 
glow  shot  across  the  sky. 

"There  is  no  certainty  of  anything,"  she  said, 
sighing  heavily. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  pleaded,  gravely,  "but  a 
husband's  place  is  by  his  wife's  side,  especially 
in  times  like  these.  We  may  be  on  the  eve  of 
dark  days  in  Louisiana." 

The  peculiar  weariness  of  her  eyes  appealed 
to  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  and  he  read  in  them  the 
tragedy  of  a  loveless  marriage. 

Jeanne  listened  to  his  words,  but  said  noth- 
ing. 

"And  it  behooves  our  women  to  be  on  their 
guard.  If  they  know  aught  that  will  help  the 
state,  now  is  the  time  to  trust  it  to  wiser  heads 
and  stronger  hands."  The  Sieur  de  Glaucos 
glanced  grimly  at  her,  inviting  her  confidence. 

"Indeed?"  she  asked,  curtly,  and  the  light  in 
her  eyes  was  as  brave  as  ever. 

"Ah,  Madame  Jeanne,  you  know  to  what  I 
refer."  He  raised  his  grizzled  old  head  and  look- 
ed steadily  in  her  eyes.  "We  are  still  expecting 
that  despatch  from  France."  He  gazed  unflinch- 
ingly at  her,  though  with  the  deepest  sympathy. 
Jeanne  returned  his  gaze.  While  recognizing 
her  peril,  she  remained  undaunted,  and  though 

234 


FIGHTING  FOR  A   SHADOW 

the  white  fingers  plucking  at  the  rose-petals  were 
cold,  they  were  steady,  and  the  light  in  her  eyes 
was  unquenched. 

"Madame  Jeanne,  you  have  the  despatch  in 
your  possession." 

"I  have  no  despatch,  and  I  hold  myself  ac- 
countable to  no  man."  She  spoke  with  proud 
patience  that  completely  baffled  the  Sieur  de 
Glaucos,  though  her  restless  spirit  raged  with 
the  conflict  of  despair. 

"The  king's  will  is  our  law."  said  the  Sieur 
de  Glaucos,  half  pleadingly,  half  fiercely.  Some- 
how Jeanne  appealed  strongly  to  his  manhood, 
and  he  would  protect  her  if  he  could. 

"  You  mean  the  laws  made  in  the  king's  name," 
she  ventured,  imperiously,  folding  her  hands  in 
her  silken  lap  over  the  dismembered  rose. 

"Whether  or  not  that  may  be  true,  Madame 
Poche,"  he  said,  in  his  bluff,  off-hand  way,  "I 
beg  you  in  your  own  interests  to  give  me  that 
letter.  Believe  me,  I  would  save  you  from  the 
consequences  that  must  follow  your  detention  of 
the  despatch." 

"I  tell  you  I  have  no  despatch."  She  frown- 
ed, then  smiled  capriciously,  her  green-gray  eyes 
looking  at  him  with  penitence.  Then  she  play- 
fully tossed  a  handful  of  rose-leaves  over  his  seri- 
ous upturned  face.  "See,  my  lord,  I  cannot  be 
vexed  with  you."  There  was  a  gentle  persua- 
sion in  her  voice.  "Oh,  let  us  pretend  there  are 

235 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

no  breaking  hearts  about  us  and  that  all  the 
world  is  a  garden  of  roses."  She  laughed  be- 
seechingly. She  felt  safe,  now  that  the  papers 
were  out  of  her  possession.  She  leaned  back  in 
her  chair.  Under  the  silver  and  lace  her  heart 
beat  in  fierce  palpitation. 

The  old  soldier  at  her  feet  moved  restlessly. 
In  spite  of  the  trouble  and  misunderstanding  be- 
tween them,  he  liked  Jeanne.  He  remembered 
how  her  father  and  himself  had  lived  at  one  time 
as  brothers,  back  there  in  France.  He  thought 
of  her  as  a  child,  then  as  a  woman,  and  admit- 
ted that  only  some  strong  provocation  could  jus- 
tify her  wilful  course.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and 
stood  beside  her  chair,  the  lines  of  the  keen,  fiery 
old  face  drawn  with  pain  and  his  martial  figure 
reared  to  its  fullest  height.  He  was  disturbed 
and  showed  it  in  his  deliberate  speech,  while 
seeking  to  disguise  his  anxiety. 

"If  that  packet  is  not  found  before  the  next 
ship  sails  I  fear  your  husband  will  be  compro- 
mised." 

He  glanced  at  Jeanne  pityingly.  A  generous 
sense  of  protection  was  strong  within  him. 

"  You  forget  that  in  withholding  the  letter  you 
are  endangering  his  fate." 

The  color  fled  from  her  cheeks,  and  in  her  eyes, 
where  there  had  been  gayety,  fright  suddenly  ap- 
peared. She  rose  and  stood  beside  the  Sieur  de 
Glaucos.  In  all  her  short,  thoughtless  life  she 

236 


FIGHTING    FOR    A    SHADOW 

had  never  been  a  traitor  to  a  human  soul.  She 
had  experienced  little  tenderness  and  happiness 
in  her  marriage,  but  she  had  tried  to  be  fair  and 
honest.  For  the  first  time  it  flashed  across  her 
that  in  saving  Laville  she  might  be  sacrificing 
her  husband. 

"  I  take  it  that  you  would  save  Captain  Poche, 
madame." 

She  stared  vacantly  ahead  and  clasped  her 
hands  uneasily.  Suddenly  she  laughed  scepti- 
cally, and  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  knew  he  was 
baffled  for  the  second  time.  She  smoothed  out 
the  wrinkles  in  her  silken  skirt,  deliberately 
brushing  every  little  crease,  with  the  diamonds 
and  emeralds  glittering  on  her  white  hands. 

"You  mistake  me.  Sieur  de  Glaucos,"  she  said, 
gently ;  "  I  have  no  packet  and  no  commissions. " 
She  smiled  innocently  at  him,  and,  sinking  her 
chin  in  the  palm  of  one  hand,  gazed  up  in  his 
face  wistfully. 

The  old  soldier  lifted  her  disengaged  hand  and 
kissed  it.  "One  admires  courage,  even  in  an 
enemy/'  he  said,  gravely  "Let  me  hope  that 
you  are  as  wise  as  you  are  brave  in  your  de- 
cision." Then  he  turned  and  left  her. 

The  moment  he  had  gone  the  laughter  died 
from  Jeanne's  lips.  She  uttered  a  low  moan  and 
looked  helplessly  about  her.  The  sun  had  set, 
leaving  a  black  gloom  overhead  and  a  hazy 
grayness  over  the  shifting  tree-tops. 

237 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"Not  that,  not  that/'  she  muttered.  "Oh, 
God !  I  must  save  my  husband.  Julian. 
Julian!"  she  cried,  with  dry  lips.  "I  must 
give  you  up  —  it  must  be  you,  my  love,  my 
love." 


CHAPTER  XIX 
COME   BACK 

JEANNE  stood  under  the  live-oaks  watching 
the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  until  he  vanished  from 
her  sight.  She  wondered  if  she  had  lost  the  old 
man's  respect.  It  seemed  that  his  friendship  was 
slipping,  slipping  away  from  her  like  a  shadow. 
The  evening  was  falling  and  the  convent  bell 
ringing  in  her  ears.  She  thought  of  the  journey 
she  had  made  across  the  ocean  with  those  pious 
Ursuline  nuns.  Her  heart  gave  a  great  bound. 
She  had  felt  so  safe.  Oh,  to  possess  that  peace 
again!  Did  the  nuns  carry  their  sorrows  be- 
yond the  convent  walls,  or  were  they  cast  aside 
with  their  worldly  garb  at  the  entrance  and  for- 
gotten? In  the  hush  of  the  October  evening  the 
bell  sounded  softer,  more  appealing,  like  a  bene- 
diction coming  through  the  shadows  from  realms 
beyond.  It  had  never  seemed  so  to  Jeanne  be- 
fore, and  she  held  her  breath  and  listened.  In 
the  days  of  happiness  with  Laville  she  had  taught 
herself  to  resist,  to  sacrifice,  but  now  a  new  dan- 
ger confronted  her.  Which  way  should  she  turn, 
where  look  for  help,  for  guidance? 

239 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

"Not  for  me,  oh,  God,  not  for  me!  I  can  bear 
anything  for  myself,  but  how  shall  I  save  him?" 
she  moaned. 

An  owl  hooted  in  the  woods,  and  a  bat  stirred 
in  the  dark  depths  over  Jeanne's  head.  She  was 
so  completely  occupied  with  her  thoughts  that  she 
did  not  see  a  figure  advancing  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  southern  gate,  threading  its  way  over 
the  wooded  expanse  between  the  forest  and  the 
settlement,  crossing  the  heavy  growth  of  coarse 
grass,  until  at  last  it  climbed  into  the  d'Artin 
demesne  and  stood  beside  Jeanne,  looking  down 
in  deep  and  dignified  silence.  Hearing  a  slight 
movement,  Jeanne  looked  up  and  instantly  rec- 
ognized Bras  Pique,  an  Indian  princess  who  had 
long  been  friendly  to  the  French.  She  was  a 
gray-haired  woman  of  light  mahogany  complex- 
ion and  jet-black  eyes.  Her  figure  was  erect 
and  tense  with  native  energy.  She  wore  rings 
of  painted  bones  in  her  ears,  and  string  after 
string  of  colored  glass  beads,  intermixed  with 
alligator  teeth  and  animals'  claws,  about  her 
neck.  Her  body  was  half  naked  and  painted 
with  heraldic  devices  in  vermilion,  which,  in  the 
uncertain  light,  looked  grotesque. 

Jeanne  greeted  Bras  Pique  cordially,  and, 
knowing  something  of  Indian  manners,  waited 
for  her  to  communicate  the  object  of  her  visit. 
After  standing  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  the 
stepped  close  to  Jeanne. 
240 


COME    BACK 

"  I  know  you,  white  sister,  as  my  friend.  You 
interceded  for  my  grandson  once.  I  remember. 
Open  your  heart  now  to  receive  my  communica- 
tion, but  after  this  hour  seal  your  lips  close. 
Never  breathe  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you." 

She  paused  in  solemn  dignity  and  looked  about 
at  the  twilight  garden,  the  purple  shadows  under 
the  trees,  and  the  subdued  lights  that  were  be- 
ginning to  appear  in  the  windows  of  the  house. 
It  was  very  silent.  Darkness  began  to  creep 
over  the  little  settlement.  Mosquitoes  hummed, 
and  the  frogs  in  the  tall  reeds  and  grasses  along 
the  river  began  their  nightly  concert.  Far  be- 
yond the  levee  the  broad  Mississippi,  filling  the 
air  with  uneasy  murmurs,  flowed  to  the  gulf. 

"My  people  do  not  love  Chopart,"  continued 
Bras  Pique.  " One  you  love  is  with  him." 

Jeanne  started  and  gazed  at  her  with  sudden 
terror.  Her  face  flushed  in  the  gloom.  How 
could  this  savage  woman  know  her  secret? 

"White  sister,  the  Natchez  have  lost  their 
heads.  Even  now  through  all  their  moons  the 
totem  poles  in  front  of  each  village  have  been 
painted  red.  There  will  be  no  mistake — there 
can  be  none — a  bundle  of  sticks  like  this" — she 
thrust  a  parcel  of  reeds  into  Jeanne's  hands  and 
her  quick,  keen  eyes  sought  hers.  "Every  sun- 
rise one  reed  is  taken  out.  When  the  last  re- 
mains— that  is  the  day.  Beware  of  the  Natchez 
on  that  day!  Look  out  for  big  Sun  Chopart 
Q  241 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

and  he  that  is  with  him.  The  Natchez  strike 
there  first." 

Before  Jeanne  could  reply  Bras  Pique  had 
pressed  her  hand  and  was  gone,  disappearing 
in  the  darkness  like  a  bird  of  ill  omen. 

Jeanne  stood  a  moment  in  the  hush  of  the 
October  evening,  staggered  by  the  sudden  blow. 
It  was  warm,  and  the  leaves  of  the  great  tree 
overhead  were  motionless  and  threw  heavy  shad- 
ows underneath.  The  only  sound  in  the  silence 
was  the  croaking  of  the  bull-frogs  and  the  low- 
ing of  some  cattle  in  a  distant  field. 

Jeanne  clasped  her  hands  convulsively  about 
the  reeds.  She  uttered  no  sound.  She  began 
counting  the  reeds — ten,  fifteen,  twenty,  twenty- 
five,  twenty  -  eight.  Twenty -eight!  So  soon? 
Could  it  be  true?  Surely,  it  must  be  a  hor- 
rible dream!  But  the  reeds?  Each  one  doles 
out  captivity — torture — death.  She  turned  de- 
spairingly and  passed  through  the  garden  with 
a  feeble,  wandering  gait.  Her  face  had  a  stunned 
look  upon  it.  The  gallery  was  deserted,  and 
she  sank  upon  a  chair  in  the  shadow  of  the 
great  rose-vine.  She  tried  to  think.  She  fin- 
gered the  reeds  and  counted  them  over  and 
over  again.  She  clung  to  them  in  terror.  She 
could  see  -the  men  and  women  passing  in  the 
lighted  places  about  the  Place  d'Armes.  Still 
farther  on,  behind  the  trees,  she  could  see  the 
dim  outline  of  Laville's  house,  but  he  was  not 

242 


COME    BACK 

there.  He  was  in  danger — such  danger!  She 
rose  with  a  feeling  of  extreme  helplessness  and 
went  to  the  yellow-hung  drawing-room.  A  light 
was  burning  there,  and  d'Artin  sat  polishing  his 
gun.  He  was  smiling  and  singing  an  old  tune, 
renowned  as  having  been  turned  from  the  orig- 
inal by  his  Majesty  King  Louis  XV. : 

"  One  wife  thou  hast  with  thee, 

But  that  wife  was  thine; 
Here  many  wives  I  see, 
But  see  not  her  that's  mine." 

"Oh,  Cousin  Antoine!"  cried  Jeanne,  rushing 
to  him. 

"Holy  Virgin!"  he  exclaimed.  "Have  you 
the  heart  to  ruin  my  song?"  He  laughed  mer- 
rily. "I  was  right  in  the  midst  of  King  Louis's 
address  to  old  Adam." 

"Hush!  hush!"  cried  Jeanne,  looking  around 
and  speaking  in  an  agitated  whisper.  "The 
Indians  are  rising.  Oh,  Antoine,  go  to  the  gov- 
ernor— tell  him — warn  him  that  something  must 
be  done.  There  is  grave  danger."  Then  she 
related  her  meeting  with  Bras  Pique.  D'Artin 
was  a  phlegmatic  young  man,  not  given  to  much 
serious  thought,  and  treated  Jeanne's  report  as 
visionary.  He  assured  her  she  was  unnecessa- 
rily alarmed. 

"Don't  say  another  word  about  it,"  he  urged. 
"  You  know  Laville  is  at  Fort  Rosalie  just  now, 

243 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

and  your  interest  at  this  time — well,  it  would 
not  look  well,  to  say  the  least." 

He  went  on  polishing  his  gun  with  renewed 
vigor. 

"I  will,"  cried  Jeanne.  "I  will  not  sacrifice 
so  many  lives  for  a  scruple."  Her  eyes  flashed. 
"You  ought  to  be  ashamed,  Cousin  Antoine. 
How  would  you  feel  if  the  entire  garrison  was 
to  be  wiped  out?" 

"Oh,  come,  Jeanne,  don't  talk  such  wild  non- 
sense," he  said,  carelessly.  "Believe  me,  I 
know  these  Indians  better  than  you  do.  Rest 
easy.  We  are  quite  safe.  Now,  not  a  word  to 
Luce!  Why  disturb  other  nervous  women  like 
yourself  to  no  purpose?" 

Jeanne  gazed  at  him  in  apparent  stupefac- 
tion, overpowered  for  an  instant  by  his  indiffer- 
ence. During  the  remainder  of  the  evening  she 
was  in  an  excitable  state,  now  bursting  into  oc- 
casional fits  of  laughter  and  again  a  prey  to 
restless  spells  that  drove  her  from  one  part  of 
the  house  to  another.  The  next  day  she  re- 
ported what  she  knew  to  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos, 
the  governor,  and  several  French  officers,  but 
all  thought  her  unduly  nervous,  like  most  of  the 
women  in  the  settlement  at  that  time. 

At  length,  in  sheer  desperation,  she  realized 
that  none  shared  her  fears.  If  Laville  knew  of 
Bras  Pique's  warning,  or  even  suspected  it,  he 
would  not  forsake  his  post.  The  fort  was  im- 

244 


COME    BACK 

properly  garrisoned,  and  if  he  remained  the 
chances  were  he  would  be  killed.  Laville  must 
return;  to  that  end  she  bent  her  whole  mind. 
Consideration  of  duty  or  responsibility  towards 
others  vanished  when  she  saw  how  futile  her  at- 
tempts were  to  convince  the  authorities.  They 
believed  it  to  be  a  false  warning;  they  were  ac- 
customed to  these  rumors  and  threats  that  came 
to  nothing.  But  she  had  faith  in  the  squaw. 
Laville  must  be  recalled  from  Fort  Rosalie,  but 
how? 

She  thought  of  Marcello,  Laville's  servant. 
He  could  be  trusted,  even  unto  death.  She 
could  send  a  message  to  Laville;  but  the  mes- 
sage— what  could  she  say?  There  must  be  no 
doubt  about  his  coming.  Unless  her  message 
was  imperative,  he  might,  like  the  others,  deem 
her  view  of  the  tragic  issue  an  exaggerated  one. 
Her  own  cousin,  secretly  resenting  the  influence 
Laville  seemed  to  be  exerting  on  her,  had  tried 
to  dissuade  her  from  any  communication  with 
the  fort.  His  expostulations  revealed  to  her  how 
others  would  regard  her  action,  and  she  could 
see  beyond  any  doubting  that  a  knowledge  of 
her  movements  would  compromise  her  in  the  eyes 
of  the  entire  colony.  It  was  pitiful,  but  she 
must  save  Laville  at  any  cost.  Her  happiness 
was  lost,  but  his  life — she  had  no  right  to  let  it 
be  sacrificed  without  making  an  effort  to  save  it. 
Despite  her  pride,  her  illusions  seemed  dead, 

245 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

and  her  anxiety  for  Laville  threatened  to  over- 
whelm her.  Already  two  of  the  reeds  were  gone 
— two  days — the  triumph  of  the  Natchez  was 
drawing  near. 

"  Oh,  he  must,  he  shall  leave  Fort  Rosalie'/'  she 
exclaimed  in  her  agony,  as  she  sat  alone  in  her 
room  that  night  looking  out  on  the  shining  little 
settlement  in  the  hush  of  the  rosy  twilight.  The 
soft  autumn  air  was  charged  with  the  pleasant 
hum  of  voices,  the  Caf6  d'Orleans  flared  with 
light;  she  could  hear  the  gossiping  of  the  sol- 
diers and  the  clinking  of  flagons.  The  entire 
settlement  seemed  so  full  of  life  and  pleasure, 
so  oblivious  of  any  threatened  danger.  But  La- 
ville was  there — there  in  that  place  of  gloom  and 
death.  "Only  a  woman,"  she  moaned,  "the 
weakest  thing  under  the  sun !  A  fair  face,  a  soft 
hand,  a  gentle  voice  with  the  power  of  winning 
men  —  so  much  —  but  of  what  avail  are  these 
things  now?"  She  groaned  in  agony.  r'The 
weakest  man  in  the  settlement  is  stronger  than 
I.  He  can  do  things.  If  I  could  only  save  him, 
I  would  give  my  life,  my  honor — " 

She  paused  and  reflected.  She  was  a  woman 
of  lofty  ideals — grave,  poetic,  stainless,  even  when 
loving  Laville  most.  Her  heart  had  expanded 
under  his  strong  manhood  with  a  joyous  wave 
of  happiness.  Laville's  face  came  back  to  her 
now,  strong,  earnest,  appealing.  What  was  hon- 
or to  her  if  he  were  dead?  From  girlhood  she 

246 


COME    BACK 

had  held  the  highest  ideals  of  womanhood.  She 
had  lived  under  their  inspiration,  believing  it  im- 
possible to  act  against  her  ideal  of  honor  and 
live. 

She  rose  and  walked  aimlessly  about  the  long 
chamber.  Everywhere  her  gay  gowns  and  laces 
of  all  shades  and  degrees  of  prettiness  and  rich- 
ness met  her  eyes.  They  were  hung  over  the 
chairs,  in  prim  rows  in  the  ancient  armoire,  and 
the  dressing-table  was  littered  with  precious  tri- 
fles. That  bracelet  the  king  had  given  her. 
This  ring  with  the  five  brilliants  that  flashed 
under  the  dim  light  as  she  set  a  candle  near 
had  belonged  to  her  aunt,  a  pious  dame  who, 
grown  weary  of  trying  to  unravel  the  tangled 
threads  of  life,  had  extinguished  her  brilliant 
light  and  withdrawn  to  a  convent  for  consola- 
tion. And  there  were  fans  and  handkerchiefs 
and  jewelled  baubles  that  seemed  to  her  the  out- 
ward symbols  of  the  emptiness  of  human  life. 
These  trifles  told  the  tale  of  her  life — the  blazing 
diamonds,  the  splendid  satins,  dazzling,  over- 
whelming witnesses  of  her  hollow  existence. 
Dancing,  laughing,  pleasure  -  loving,  with  the 
splendid  exuberance  of  buoyant  health  and  vi- 
tality, but  through  it  all  she  knew  how  her  heart 
had  hungered  for  the  love  which,  now  that  it 
had  come  to  her,  was  not  hers  to  keep.  Ah, 
well,  what  did  it  matter?  She  had  found  it  easy 
in  the  old  days  to  be  joyous  and  gay.  She  had 

247 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

not  waked  up  then,  and  life  was  a  pleasant 
dream.  It  is  the  intangible,  the  visionary,  that 
lifts  us  to  rapturous  heights ;  but  the  stern  reali- 
ties— do  they  not  show  us  that  we  are  but  the 
instruments  of  fate? 

She  seated  herself  at  a  desk  near  the  candle- 
light. She  was  sure  Laville  would  come  if  she 
sent  for  him.  She  was  indifferent  now  to  what 
the  world  might  think  of  her. 

"What  does  it  matter?"  she  murmured.  "At 
least,  a  life  will  be  saved  and  this  hopeless  agony 
ended."  The  white  years  of  the  past,  with  their 
stainless  record,  seemed  to  count  for  nothing. 
Without  a  regret,  unrepenting,  resolute,  she  wrote 
to  him: 

"  I  am  sorely  pressed,  dear  heart — I  cannot  live  without 
you.  I  care  not  for  creeds,  nor  for  the  opinion  of  the  world. 
You  have  inspired  me  with  new  courage.  Come  to  me. 
Suffering  has  made  me  gloomy,  and  my  heart  is  in  a  tumult 
of  fear.  I  shall  be  at  the  house  where  you  saw  me  that 
last  night.  It  is  so  deserted,  and  so  lonely  since  you  went 
away,  but  safe  for  me.  Remember,  on  the  night  of  No- 
vember 28th,  not  later  than  two  hours  before  mid- 
night I  will  be  there.  Love  possesses  me  wholly — I  am 
yours  entirely — I  care  for  nothing  but  you — you — you. 
If  you  fail  me,  I  shall  return  to  France  instantly. 

"  JEANNE." 

She  hurried  to  Marcello  with  the  note,  fearing 
to  trust  another  hand. 

"Go,    go,    Marcello!     Give  your   master   this 
248 


COME    BACK 

message.  Tell  him  I  am  in  danger.  Tell  him 
to  come  at  once/' 

She  spoke  with  such  eager  earnestness  that 
the  negro  was  impressed  with  a  sense  of  her  peril. 

When  she  had  seen  the  negro  start  off  with 
the  message  a  wave  of  peace  came  to  her.  He 
would  be  saved.  She  would  never  regret  the 
sacrifice.  Did  it  not  mean  her  life  for  his?  The 
thought  thrilled  her  with  its  self-abnegation.  In 
that  moment  of  triumph  the  woman  rose  to  her 
supreme  height  of  triumph;  her  self-effacement 
was  complete. 


CHAPTER   XX 
ROSSART    INTERCEPTS     MARCELLO 

IT  was  nightfall  when  Marcello  left  his  mas- 
ter's house  with  the  note  he  had  received  from 
Jeanne,  and  set  out  for  Fort  Rosalie.  He  had 
a  vague  idea  that  her  danger  was  of  vital  inter- 
est to  his  master,  and  intuitively  he  felt  the  need 
of  reaching  Fort  Rosalie  as  soon  as  possible.  He 
secreted  the  note  under  his  hat  for  safety. 

It  was  a  remarkably  mild  evening  for  the  sea- 
son. The  air  stirred  softly,  and  the  breeze  blew 
the  odor  of  salt  water  in  from  the  gulf.  Beyond 
the  levee  a  young  moon  was  rising  above  the 
Place  d'Armes;  the  trees,  the  low  houses,  and 
the  streets  were  white  under  its  silver  radiance. 

Marcello  had  reached  the  church,  and  was 
presently  among  straggling  groups  of  marine 
cadets,  officers,  women,  and  children  going  in 
and  coming  out  of  the  sacred  edifice.  It  was  a 
simple  building  in  those  days,  but  to  Marcello 
it  was  the  finest  structure  in  the  world,  boast- 
ing of  all  the  solemn  symbols  of  heaven.  He 
stopped  for  a  moment,  his  rude  ear  caught  by 
the  chanting  voices  of  the  choir,  and  was  about 
250 


ROSSART     INTERCEPTS    MARCELLO 

to  pass  on  when  some  one  called  his  name.  He 
looked  around  cautiously.  Madame  Perier,  ac- 
companied by  Rossart,  was  coming  from  the 
church  towards  him.  All  New  Orleans  knew 
the  lady  as  a  pious  woman,  kind,  gentle,  and 
compassionate  towards  all. 

" Marcello,"  she  called.  "Wait  a  moment.  I 
wish  to  speak  to  you." 

Marcello  regarded  her  with  silent  awe.  In  the 
colony  there  was  so  much  lawlessness  that  this 
woman  was  looked  upon  as  a  majestic  saint 
who  kept  up  a  silent  account  with  God.  She 
greeted  Marcello  kindly. 

"  Is  your  master  still  absent,  Marcello?" 

He  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

'One  of  my  servants  is  ill/'  she  said,  "and  I 
want  you  to  come  to-night  and  help  us  out.  I 
shall  acquaint  Captain  Laville  with  the  fact 
when  he  returns.  You  must  come  at  once,  Mar- 
cello.  The  governor  has  called  a  special  con- 
ference to-night,  and  I  shall  need  you  to  wait 
on  them." 

Marcello  held  his  peace  awkwardly;  then 
bluntly  explained  that  his  master  was  at  Fort 
Rosalie,  and  that  he  was  bound  on  a  commission 
to  him  that  brooked  no  delay. 

"What  a  pity !"  said  Madame  Perier.  "I  am 
disappointed.  I  thought  I  could  count  on  you. 
Could  you  not  go  to  your  master  to-morrow?" 

Marcello  shook  his  head  in  confusion,  cast- 
251 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

ing  down  and  lifting  his  eyes  in  apparent 
apology. 

"What  may  this  important  mission  be,  Mar- 
cello?"  asked  Rossart,  suavely. 

Marcello  started  violently  and  begged  Ma- 
dame Pe"rier  to  excuse  him.  Impressed  by  his 
consideration  for  his  master,  she  allowed  him  to 
depart  at  once. 

As  soon  as  he  had  left  them  Marcello  hurried 
towards  the  river  and  followed  the  levee  until  he 
came  to  a  marshy  place  where  a  negro  fisher- 
man dwelt,  and  who  frequently  loaned  his  pi- 
rogue to  the  other  negroes.  He  lived  in  an  iso- 
lated spot,  and  was  supposed  to  have  some  quiet 
business  of  his  own  with  smugglers,  but,  in  spite 
of  suspicion,  he  continued  to  escape  detection  and 
flourished  in  his  contraband  trade,  keeping  nei- 
ther the  laws  nor  the  creeds  of  the  settlement. 

He  was  pleased  to  see  Marcello,  and  at  once 
put  his  pirogue  at  Marcello's  disposal.  What 
would  he  not  do  for  Laville,  the  brave  captain, 
the  soul  of  honor,  the  idol  of  the  people?  Well 
he  knew,  this  crafty  smuggler,  that  Laville 
would  make  the  enterprise  a  profitable  one  to 
him ;  none  ever  lost  by  the  valiant  captain. 

Marcello  was  the  happiest  negro  in  the  settle- 
ment when  he  had  secured  the  pirogue.  He  had 
made  it  ready  for  his  voyage  up  the  river  and 
was  stooping  down  to  push  it  out  from  the  reeds 
when  a  crushing  blow,  delivered  with  the  full 

252 


ROSSART    INTERCEPTS    MARCELLO 

strength  of  a  strong  arm,  struck  him  to  the 
ground,  insensible.  His  hat  caught  on  the 
bushes,  and  Jeanne's  note  fluttered  downward. 

The  moon,  slender  and  white,  hung  over  the 
tangle  of  reeds  and  bushes,  and  lighted  up  a 
grasping  white  hand  which  reached  forward 
and  picked  up  the  note.  Rossart — for  it  was 
he — broke  into  a  diabolical  fit  of  laughter  as 
Jeanne's  familiar  handwriting  met  his  sight. 
Every  word  was  visible  in  the  clear  moonlight — 
so  plain,  so  suggestive  of  the  passionate  force 
of  her  nature,  that  he  could  almost  fancy  he 
heard  her  voice.  His  face  burned  with  a  sudden 
rush  of  blood,  and  his  eyes  flamed  with  a  devil- 
ish light. 

"  Ha,  ha,  my  lady  Jeanne  !  Now  you  are  in 
my  power,"  he  cried  aloud  in  triumph.  "With 
this  note  I  can  defy  you,  my  haughty  one,  and 
ruin  you  if  I  will.  No  one  knows  what  is  in  this 
message,  and — "  he  bent  over  the  negro  and 
lifted  one  of  his  hands,  which  fell  limp — "  he  will 
tell  no  tales,"  he  added,  kicking  the  prostrate 
form.  "One  black  dog  less,  and  one  friend  the 
less  for  Laville.  My  lady  Jeanne,  this  night's 
work  has  made  me  your  master." 

Shortly  after  Rossart  had  left  Marcello  for 
dead,  the  recumbent  figure  of  the  negro  began 
to  stir.  He  felt  a  numbness  in  his  right  shoul- 
der, and  there  was  a  wound  on  the  side  of  his 
head.  With  much  effort  he  managed  to  crawl 

253 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

to  the  river,  where  he  washed  away  the  blood 
on  his  face  and  head.  The  cool  water  revived 
him,  and  soon  he  was  able  to  bethink  himself 
what  he  had  best  do.  In  vain  he  searched  for 
Jeanne's  message.  It  was  not  to  be  found,  and 
his  heart  smote  him.  What  would  his  master 
say?  Who  had  struck  the  blow?  What  would 
happen  to  Madame  Poche  in  the  mean  time?  He 
must  reach  Laville.  There  was  no  time  to  lose. 
He  remembered  Jeanne's  words — "  Tell  him  I  am 
in  danger — tell  him  to  come  at  once." 

The  negro  proceeded  to  get  into  the  pirogue, 
fearing  each  moment  that  his  assailant  might 
return.  His  shoulder  hurt  him,  and  paddling 
upstream  was  difficult,  but  he  went  on  dogged- 
ly, making  progress,  if  slowly,  towards  his  des- 
tination. 

At  last,  after  a  painful  journey,  he  drew  his 
pirogue  up  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  the  summit 
of  which,  six  hundred  yards  away,  he  could  see 
the  fort.  It  was  an  irregular  pentagon  in  shape, 
built  of  thin  plank.  There  were  no  bastions, 
and  the  buildings  consisted  of  a  storehouse,  mag- 
azine, houses  for  the  officers,  and  barracks  for 
the  soldiers. 

The  morning  sun  shone  over  the  top  of  the 
stockade  and  on  the  beautiful  country  around. 
Marcello  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  fort,  named  in 
honor  of  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Pontchartrain. 
He  had  struggled  painfully  for  many  days  to 
254 


ROSSART    INTERCEPTS     MARCELLO 

reach  the  place,  and  at  last  he  was  within  sight 
of  it.  His  master  was  there;  he  was  a  sol- 
dier; he  would  avenge  his  wrongs.  Yes,  and 
there  was  Jupiter.  "Good  dog,  good  dog!"  It 
seemed  like  home  again. 

He  beached  the  pirogue  and  slowly  climbed 
the  hill.  There  were  plenty  to  welcome  him. 
Every  new-comer  in  sight  was  hailed  with  inter- 
est in  those  early  days.  Presently  he  was  with 
his  master,  and  Jupiter's  great  paws  were  about 
his  neck.  He  dropped  at  Laville's  feet,  telling 
his  story  in  a  breath  and  begging  forgive- 
ness. 

"Brave  Marcello!"  cried  Laville,  excitedly. 
"And  she,  Madame  Poche,  sent  you?  Did  she 
say  aught  else  than  that  she  was  threatened 
with  danger?  Has  there  been  any  ship  come 
in  lately?  Is  the  lady's  husband  arrived?  Oh, 
the  rogue  who  stole  that  note,  Marcello!  If  we 
knew,  his  life  would  pay  the  forfeit.  He  did 
not  count  on  your  fealty,  Marcello.  Good  boy, 
good  boy!  One  day  you  shall  wear  a  new  scar- 
let coat  for  this,  and  sit  in  the  sun  all  day 
long." 

The  negro  grinned.  His  master's  bright  coats 
had  long  been  his  admiration. 

Laville  tried  to  fathom  Jeanne's  meaning. 
She  trusted  him;  she  had  need  of  him;  she  had 
sent  for  him.  A  soft  light  came  into  his  eyes. 
"But,  mon  Dieu,  what  danger  she  may  be  in  at 

255 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

this  very  moment!"  His  face  grew  pale  with 
sudden  fear.  He  thought  of  her  as  he  had  last 
seen  her — so  capricious,  so  melting,  so  adorable. 
"Ah,  Jeanne,  Jeanne!"  he  cried.  "I  will  not 
fail  you.  I  am  coming,  sweetheart  1" 


CHAPTER  XXI 
AT    LAVILLE'S    HOUSE 

JEANNE  removed  one  of  the  reeds  each  morn- 
ing. Just  beyond  the  market-place  she  could 
see  the  flash  of  arms  at  the  parade  in  the  Place 
d'Armes,  and  the  daily  sight  of  the  martial  ar- 
ray of  men  made  her  long  for  news  of  the  ulti- 
mate safety  of  that  other  soldier  at  Fort  Rosalie. 
As  the  bundle  of  reeds  grew  less  the  sight  of 
every  soldier  from  the  barracks,  every  drum-tap, 
the  boom  of  the  sunset  guns,  and  the  faintest 
hint  of  war  made  her  sick  with  apprehension. 
After  the  mad  excitement  of  that  reckless  night, 
when  she  wrote  to  Laville,  had  settled  down  into 
the  practical  reflections  of  daily  routine,  she 
shuddered  to  think  how  she  had  perhaps  for- 
feited his  high  respect  by  actually  throwing 
herself  into  his  arms.  There  was  a  subtle  al- 
teration in  her  mute,  passionate  face;  the  strug- 
gle of  her  love  and  self  -  sacrifice  wrought  a 
marked  change  in  her  which  those  about  her 
could  not  fail  to  notice. 

"Jeanne,  you  grow  quiet,"  Madame  d'Artin 
often  said,  and  the  repetition  began  to  irritate 

257 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

her  husband.  He  showed  plainly  his  contempt 
for  these  tactless  remarks,  but  nevertheless  the 
truth  jarred  upon  him  as  he  became  painfully 
conscious  of  its  source. 

In  those  days  New  Orleans  was  a  place  of 
wild  revelry  and  unlicensed  dissipation.  Peo- 
ple did  not  take  time  to  be  moral.  Everybody 
in  the  colony  followed  the  fashion  and  affected 
the  life  of  the  French  court  and  the  philosophy 
of  the  times.  On  the  threshold  of  the  palace, 
in  Versailles,  all  that  was  fine  and  noble  was 
forgotten.  Little  wonder,  therefore,  that  in  New 
Orleans  the  settlers  should  doubt  the  existence 
of  virtue  and  nobility.  Women  in  general  laid 
aside  their  virtue  as  easily  as  a  cloak,  and  men 
looked  upon  it  as  an  asylum  for  every  indiscre- 
tion under  the  sun. 

Jeanne  was  vaguely  conscious  of  the  evil  about 
her.  She  had  lived  in  the  same  atmosphere,  but 
she  had  sprung  from  two  old  families  of  South- 
ern France  whose  aristocratic  ideals  and  inher- 
ent moral  tendencies  were  lofty  by  nature.  In  her 
there  were  born  a  love  of  truth  and  an  instinctive 
hatred  of  deception.  She  could  not  understand 
how  so  many  lived  from  day  to  day  without  hope 
or  memory,  dazzled  by  the  fictitious  glamour  of 
the  false  life  about  them.  And  now  she  reflected 
that  if  the  passions  of  her  own  rebellious  heart 
were  only  known,  she  would  be  hailed  and  dis- 
cussed as  a  fresh  subject  for  scandal,  and  then 

258 


AT    LAVILLE'S    HOUSE 

condoned  and  forgotten  as  the  natural  outcome 
of  the  times.  She  held  to  the  truth  that  she  was 
not  to  blame  for  the  perplexing  situation  in  which 
she  found  herself;  she  was  but  the  victim  of  a 
fate  that  had  been  too  strong  for  her.  She  could 
not  help  loving  Laville,  and  while  she  knew  her 
love  to  be  as  pure  as  heaven,  she  also  knew  that 
its  very  sweetness  was  preserved  by  her  silence 
and  renunciation.  She  shuddered  at  the  thought 
that  any  one  should  think  she  had  followed  the 
ways  of  the  fashionable,  self-loving  world.  That 
she  and  Laville  should  love  each  other  was  a 
tragedy  to  both  of  them.  She  knew  that  she 
could  never  go  back  to  Poche;  to  do  that  now 
would  be  a  crime  against  her  nature.  She  had 
learned  that  love  was  not  only  a  great  happiness, 
but  a  great  sorrow. 

On  the  night  of  November  28th,  faithful  to 
her  tryst,  Jeanne  went  to  Laville's  house.  Only 
one  reed  was  left.  She  unlocked  the  door  and 
stumbled  across  the  threshold  in  the  dark  and 
stared  into  the  gray  obscurity  with  dread  reflec- 
tions. The  air  smelled  damp  and  mouldy,  and 
a  monster  rat  shot  across  her  feet.  She  stag- 
gered in  fright  against  the  door ;  then  she  closed 
and  bolted  it  before  she  made  a  light.  When 
the  candle-beams  flickered  across  the  dusty  floor 
she  dropped  nervously  into  a  chair,  observing 
the  bare  dreariness  of  the  room  in  weary  ab- 
straction. A  lump  swelled  in  her  throat  as  she 

259 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

surveyed  the  surroundings  that  spoke  of  La- 
ville.  It  was  chilly.  She  rose  and  lighted  the 
papers  and  pine  knots  on  the  hearth  with  one 
end  of  the  candle.  The  small  flame  suddenly 
expanded  into  a  big  blaze,  and  she  drew  the  great 
chair  up  to  the  fireplace. 

The  green-gray  had  faded  from  her  eyes,  and 
they  looked  almost  black  as  they  resumed  their 
restless  wandering  around  the  cheerless  cham- 
ber. The  air  of  neglect  made  it  seem  forlorn. 
Dust  lay  on  everything.  The  armor  on  the  wall 
was  tarnished,  the  flagons,  the  drinking-cups, 
the  pipe  on  the  table,  the  powder-horn,  and  a 
brace  of  pistols  all  spoke  to  her  of  him — the  man 
she  loved.  Away  back  yonder  in  France  she 
had  never  known  the  new,  strange  passion  that 
had  broken  with  such  tempestuous  sweetness 
upon  her  life,  and  then  this  sorrow — it  was  bet- 
ter that  none  should  know  of  her  grief.  It  was 
all  buried  deep  down  in  her  own  heart;  she  felt 
cold  and  sick  with  misery.  She  had  prayed  so 
many  nights  and  days  that  she  could  not  pray 
any  more.  Her  prayers  had  not  been  answered. 

Vaguely  she  knew  now  how  great  her  loneli- 
ness had  always  been.  It  had  not  weighed  on 
her  like  this  before — her  life  had  been  so  gay,  so 
brilliant,  that  she  had  never  paused  to  think,  to 
feel.  Here,  alone  and  solitary,  it  overwhelmed 
her,  and  the  thought  of  his  coming  seemed  to 
fill  the  world  with  light  and  gladness.  She 

260 


AT    LAVILLE'S    HOUSE 

could  hardly  believe  her  senses.  How  good  it 
was  to  be  alive — to  be  young — and  to  love! 

Hush!  Was  that  a  footstep?  She  listened 
with  her  heart  beating  loudly ;  a  choking  sensa- 
tion made  her  breathing  labored,  and  she  stood 
tense  and  silent. 

The  footsteps  came  nearer,  up  the  steps.  Now 
he  was  at  the  door — ah!  he  was  here!  he  was 
safe!  A  smile  danced  in  her  eyes;  her  lips  trem- 
bled. Palpitating,  frightened,  she  heard  him  try 
the  latch  and  tap  softly  on  the  door. 

A  moment  of  suspense,  then  she  drew  back  the 
bolt,  the  warm  blood  flushing  her  face  as  she 
threw  the  door  wide  open.  The  next  moment  a 
tall,  muffled  figure  had  stepped  over  the  thresh- 
old and  bolted  the  door  behind  him. 

Oh,  the  supreme  joy  of  that  moment!  A  sud- 
den rush  of  happy  tears  blinded  Jeanne  for  an 
instant;  she  was  a  radiant,  an  adorable  vision. 
Her  eyes  danced  through  the  mist,  her  curving 
lips  smiled  joyousry,  and  a  crimson  glow  over- 
spread her  face  and  neck.  She  trembled  in  every 
limb,  and  shrank  back  against  the  wall  with  low- 
ered head,  afraid  to  let  him  see  the  infinite  glad- 
ness in  her  face.  The  next  instant  he  advanced 
to  her  side  and  snatched  one  of  her  hands  to  his 
lips. 

"Jeanne,  at  last  we  are  alone,  with  none  to 
hear,  none  to  see." 

At  the  first  hoarse  sound  Jeanne  looked  wildly 
261 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

up,  and  stood  a  second  confronting  the  man.  In 
terror  she  saw  that  it  was  not  Laville,  but  Ros- 
sart. 

"You,  you!"  she  gasped,  in  horror.  "How 
came  you  here?"  There  was  a  pitiful  wail  in 
her  voice.  He  looked  at  her,  smiling  with  ironi- 
cal humor. 

"And  you,  my  spotless  lady,  how  does  it  hap- 
pen I  find  you  in  Captain  Laville's  house?" 

"Some  unfortunate  accident  has  evidently 
caused  mistress  and  menial  to  seek  the  same 
shelter.  I  bid  you  good  -  evening,  monsieur." 
She  swept  him  a  stately  courtesy  and  turned  to 
the  door. 

"Nay,  nay,  my  lady  Jeanne!"  cried  Rossart, 
springing  between  her  and  the  door.  "You 
must  listen  to  me  now."  His  face  was  white, 
and  there  was  a  devilish  intensity  in  it  she  had 
never  seen  before. 

Jeanne  saw  that  protest  would  be  unavailing. 
Her  bosom  heaved  tumultuously,  and  a  hopeless 
look  settled  on  her  face  as  she  moved  slowly  tow- 
ards the  fireplace.  The  room  seemed  to  have  be- 
come strangely  shadowy  with  its  one  little  light, 
the  small  disk  of  radiance  glimmering  weirdly. 
She  stood  by  the  fireplace,  the  long,  clinging 
white  folds  of  her  gown  sweeping  the  dusty  floor. 
The  dying  firelight  flickered  on  her  bare  arms 
and  on  the  slender,  white-robed  figure,  throwing 
into  relief  the  curving  softness  of  her  limbs. 

262 


AT   LAVILLE'S    HOUSE 

Rossart  left  his  position  by  the  door  and 
crossed  to  where  she  stood. 

"My  lady  Jeanne,"  he  said,  with  sinister  pas- 
sion, "  it  is  heaven  to  be  thus  close  to  you.  We 
are  alone  at  last,  you  and  I,  my  proud  lady." 

Her  face  was  as  impassive  as  a  mask. 

"I  have  loved  you  always,"  he  said,  and 
laughed  uneasily.  "You  have  been  the  one 
baffling  thing  in  my  life.  Not  content  with  mak- 
ing me  long  for  you,  torturing  me  with  all  the 
torments  of  hell,  you  interpose  yourself  between 
me  and  my  ambition.  But  the  hour  of  reckon- 
ing has  come." 

Jeanne  shuddered. 

"The  man  who  was  your  lover  is  miles  away, 
perhaps  fighting  with  Indians  even  as  we  stand 
here.  A  week,  a  month  hence,  even  if  he  should 
escape  with  his  life,  you  will  have  faded  from 
his  thoughts,  and  in  a  year  he  will  have  quite 
forgotten  you,  for  a  soldier  loves  easily  and  often." 

She  raised  her  arms  to  her  head  and  dropped 
them  helplessly  to  her  side  with  a  movement  of 
hopelessness.  Anxiety  and  despair  were  ravag- 
ing her  heart.  In  imagination  she  could  hear 
the  cries  of  women  and  children  and  the  fearful 
Indian  war-whoops  echoing  through  the  forests 
of  Fort  Rosalie.  Her  face  became  tragic.  She 
turned  with  fierce  indignation  on  Rossart. 

"Fiend! — coward  !  I  call  on  Heaven  to  revenge 
the  wrongs  you  have  done." 

263 


THE    KING'S     MESSENGER 

"What  of  your  wrongs — your  crime  against 
king  and  state?  What  about  the  packet  in- 
trusted to  you  by  the  king?" 

"You  speak  a  strange  language,"  she  said. 
"What  packet  is  in  your  thoughts?  I  have  no 
packet." 

"Madame,  a  lie  comes  not  easily  to  your  lips, 
and  it  ill  becomes  beauty  to  tamper  with  the  se- 
crets of  men.  I  tell  you,  you  must  give  up  that 
despatch.  If  you  will  not  give  it  up  fairly,  then 
there  are  other  means  of  bending  you  to  my  will. 
My  lady  Jeanne,  you  are  the  one  woman  I  de- 
sire above  all  women " — he  came  closer  to  her — 
"  the  woman  that  I  love  most  under  heaven.  You 
are  at  my  mercy  here.  It  is  near  midnight;  cry 
aloud,  and  none  will  hear  you.  I  love  you,  my 
beauty,  and  you  shall  love  me  yet."  He  attempt- 
ed to  take  her  hand. 

"Back!"  she  cried,  with  angry  scorn.  "How 
dare  you  touch  me?" 

"Peste!  you  shall  be  mine!"  he  cried,  vehe- 
mently. "You  have  kindled  a  fire  in  my  veins 
that  bids  me  do  and  dare  anything  to  win  you." 
Moved  by  a  strong,  passionate  impulse,  he  sought 
to  clasp  Jeanne  in  his  arms,  but  she  wrenched 
herself  free  from  him  and  rushed  madly  to  one  of 
the  windows. 

"Coward!"  she  cried,  trembling. 

"You  are  mine  at  last,  my  proud  lady,  my 
gay  coquette!"  he  cried.  "You  shall  be  mine!" 

264 


AT    LAVILLE'S    HOUSE 

Again  he  made  a  futile  effort  to  clasp  her  in  his 
arms,  but  at  that  moment  footsteps  were  heard 
on  the  gallery. 

"Hush!"  he  warned  her.  "It  may  be  your 
husband,  for  even  now  a  ship  from  France  is  at 
the  landing." 

She  turned  pale,  and  stood  in  fear,  like  a  hunt- 
ed animal. 

"Give  me  the  packet,  madame,  or  on  my  life 
you  shall  answer  to  your  husband  for  this." 

Again  the  sound  of  footsteps  penetrated  to 
the  room  as  some  one  passed  the  door. 

Jeanne  strained  her  ears  intently. 

Some  one  spoke  in  a  rich,  mellow  voice: 

"Here,  Marcello,  take  Jupiter  and  give  him  a 
bone.  See  how  slowly  he  walks.  Poor  beast! 
He,  like  his  master,  is  like  to  drop  with  weariness." 

"Laville!"  exclaimed  Rossart,  in  alarm,  and 
listened  intently,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Jeanne. 

"  Ah!"  she  sighed,  "  at  last,  at  last!  Oh,  thank 
God,  thank  God!" 

She  clasped  her  hands  to  her  heart  in  silent 
ecstasy.  A  rush  of  vitality  coursed  through  her 
veins.  How  safe  she  now  felt !  "  Do  you  hear, 
Monsieur  Rossart?  Do  you  hear  that?"  she  cried, 
rapturously.  "  Methinks  you  are  caught  in  your 
own  snare."  There  was  a  triumphant  ring  in 
her  voice,  and  she  laughed  through  her  tears. 
Oh,  the  joy  of  hearing  his  voice,  and  to  know 
he  was  safe — safe  ! 

265 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"  Sang  Dieu !"  hissed  Rossart,  through  set 
lips,  and  drawing  his  sword.  "  Cry  not !  utter  no 
sound,  I  warn  you!" 

Jeanne  shrank  from  his  grasp. 

"You  would  not  harm  him?" 

The  footsteps  were  returning  again.  Rossart 
laughed  sardonically. 

"If  you  but  utter  a  sound,  I  swear  I  will  kill 
him." 

The  footsteps  came  nearer.  The  fire  had  al- 
most died  out,  and  only  a  few  red  embers  mark- 
ed the  place  where  it  had  been.  Jeanne  felt  Ros- 
sart's  hot  breath  on  her  face,  and  he  clasped  one 
of  her  hands  tightly  in  his. 

"Give  me  that  despatch,"  he  said,  quickly, 
under  his  breath,  still  straining  his  ears  to  catch 
Laville's  voice  as  he  talked  to  Marcello.  "Give 
it  to  me,  and  I  will  spare  him."  His  sword  rat- 
tled ominously  against  its  scabbard.  "I  hate 
Laville.  You  shall  not  thwart  me.  Give  me 
the  despatch,"  and  he  wrung  her  hand  so  that 
she  groaned  with  pain. 

"I — I — have  it  not.  You  will  be  sorry  for 
this  night's  work — " 

There  was  a  rattling  of  the  latch  at  this  junct- 
ure, which  became  more  violent  with  resistance. 
Ah!  the  casement  cracks.  Laville  was  growing 
impatient. 

"We  shall  meet  again,  madame,"  hissed  Ros- 
sart, with  the  ferocity  of  a  beast  balked  of  its 

266 


AT    LAVILLE'S    HOUSE 

prey.  Then  he  sprang  to  the  threshold,  and, 
drawing  back  the  bolt,  threw  the  door  wide  open, 
tripping  Laville  as  he  entered.  Laville  uttered  a 
stifled  cry  of  rage,  and  nimbly  rose  to  his  feet. 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  door-like  windows 
was  opened,  letting  in  a  long,  white  moonbeam, 
which  fell  athwart  the  sill  and  followed  a  slender 
course  across  the  bare  floor.  Instantaneously 
with  the  opening  of  the  window,  Laville  saw 
Rossart  climb  out,  his  dark  figure  clearly  sil- 
houetted against  the  white  world  outside,  the 
sleeping  town  and  moss -hung  trees  in  the 
moonlight  making  a  shining  background  for 
the  escaping  figure. 

"  Rossart,  as  I  live!"  he  cried.  "  Ho,  there,  Mar- 
cello!  Lights!  lights!  The  devil  has  just  been 
here.  There  is  mischief  brewing  somewhere." 

Jeanne  held  her  breath  with  suspense,  and  tot- 
tered against  the  wall  for  support.  Smothering 
the  impulse  in  her  heart  to  cry  out  to  him,  she 
waited  in  the  shadows.  He  was  safe — safe!  She 
thought  only  of  that,  and  that  Rossart  had  gone. 
When  Marcello  brought  lights  the  sudden  illu- 
mination blinded  her  for  a  moment.  She  actu- 
ally smiled — her  scarlet  mouth  and  famishing 
eyes  eloquent  with  a  glad  salutation. 

"  You?"  cried  Laville,  hoarsely,  as  his  eyes  fell 
upon  the  dazzling  figure.  "  You  here — and  with 
that  villain?" 

A  world  of  scorn  and  surprise  rang  in  his  voice 
267 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

and  leaped  from  his  blazing  eyes.  He  walked 
over  to  her  and  for  a  moment  gazed  at  her,  a  fig- 
ure of  motionless  reproach,  but  so  convulsed  by 
passion  as  to  frighten  her. 

She  made  no  answer,  but  gave  a  low  cry  of 
mingled  astonishment  and  dismay.  The  world 
outside  was  intensely  still,  and  from  far  off  came 
the  nocturnal  sound  of  a  wild  bird. 

Jeanne's  heart  leaped  into  her  throat.  It  had 
made  her  so  happy  just  to  hear  his  voice,  so  glad 
to  see  him,  that  she  had  thought  of  nothing 
else.  Gradually  the  light  died  out  of  her  eyes, 
the  scarlet  fled  from  her  cheeks  and  lips,  and  a 
frozen  silence  seemed  to  envelop  her  entire  be- 
ing. Her  tongue  clove  to  her  mouth.  She  tried 
to  speak,  but  her  lips  would  not  frame  the 
words. 

"  God  in  heaven !  and  I  would  have  staked  my 
soul  on  your  truth!" 

The  words  broke  from  him  in  bitter  denuncia- 
tion. His  face  turned  ashen  gray. 

"I  might  have  known,"  he  cried,  turning  from 
her  and  walking  to  the  fireplace.  "Fool,  fool 
that  I  have  been!  It  is  no  secret  in  the  colony 
that  he  was  your  lover  in  days  gone  by.  Back 
there  in  France  his  name  and  yours  were  a  by- 
word. Men  have  whispered  it  over  their  cups 
here  in  the  province,  and  I — I — I  would  not  be- 
lieve. It  was  something  to  think  that  there  was 
one  perfect  woman  soul  in  the  world." 

268 


AT    LAVILLE'S    HOUSE 

She  breathed  heavily.  His  words  were  an  ac- 
cusation which  smote  her  to  dumbness. 

"I  am  not  the  first  man  who  has  been  mis- 
taken in  a  woman/'  he  said,  crossing  and  stand- 
ing before  her.  "The  damnable  treachery,  the 
siren  charms  are  the  dower  of  your  sex,  and 
the  poor  devils  of  men  are  duped  by  a  smile 
or  the  pressure  of  a  soft,  white  hand." 

Tears  gathered  in  her  eyes,  but  did  not  fall. 

"You  are  a  blind  man,"  she  said,  pitifully, 
through  compressed  lips.  Her  hands  tightened 
in  their  grasp  of  each  other.  "Your  suspicions 
are  infamous."  She  looked  at  him  with  crimson 
cheeks,  and  her  voice  trembled  in  spite  of  her  ef- 
forts to  keep  it  firm,  but  there  was  the  proud  up- 
lifting of  the  head  that  Laville  knew  so  well. 

"You  deny  it,  and  yet  he  was  here  with 
you  alone — here  where  you  thought  none  would 
know. "  He  laughed  scornfully. 

"You  shall  not  speak  to  me  in  this  way,"  she 
cried,  throwing  out  her  hands  as  if  to  repel  his 
accusations.  "I  will  hear  no  more.  You  shall 
not  insult  me.  By  what  right  do  you  dare  to 
accuse  me?"  she  demanded,  with  straining  eyes. 

"True,"  he  said,  in  an  altered  voice,  and  drop- 
ping his  arms  wearily.  "I  have  no  right,  and 
yet  there  has  been  something  in  your  voice  and 
something  in  your  eyes — I  thought  I  could  trust 
you.  I  wish  you  happiness  of  this  night's  work, 
madame.  Before  Heaven,  I  have  been  taught  a 
269 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

lesson  !"  He  spoke  savagely,  and  walked  to  the 
door,  his  eyes  blazing.  "  I  hope  never  to  see  you 
again  as  long  as  I  live.  I  will  take  myself  out 
of  your  life  at  once.  A  ship  has  just  come  in. 
When  it  returns  to  France  I  shall  go  with  it." 
He  moved  nearer  the  door,  his  sword  clinking  in 
its  scabbard. 

She  felt  as  though  she  would  suffocate.  In  an 
instant  he  would  be  gone  forever,  and  he  would 
go  thinking  her  guilty;  with  her  mind  torn  by 
regret  and  despair,  she  staggered  after  him.  At 
that  instant  there  was  the  sound  of  crackling 
grasses  and  a  smothered  imprecation  uttered  by 
a  man  coming  up  the  path  in  front  of  the  house. 

Laville  turned  back  quickly  and  met  her  in  the 
doorway.  Outraged,  betrayed,  and  ridiculed,  not- 
withstanding he  must  protect  her  from  further 
ignominy  and  detection. 

"Some  one  is  coming,"  he  said,  speaking  rap- 
idly, without  looking  at  her.  "  You  must  not  be 
seen  here."  He  almost  pushed  her  back  into  the 
room.  "  Here — you  must  conceal  yourself,"  with 
a  motion  of  his  hand  towards  the  window.  "In 
this  embrasure,  behind  the  hangings,  you  will  not 
be  seen.  Hide  yourself — quick ! ' ' 


CHAPTER   XXII 
THE    UNEXPECTED 

OSSART,  Rossart,  you  villain!  Ho,  there, 
are  you  within?  Speak,  man,  speak,  that  I 
may  know  the  living  are  about  \"  The  man's 
voice  was  thick  and  unsteady,  as  if  he  had  been 
drinking  heavily. 

There  was  a  little  convulsive  gasp  in  the  room, 
and  Jeanne  staggered  against  the  window  with 
a  sharp  cry.  "  It  is  my  husband — my  husband!" 
she  cried,  feebly,  looking  out  for  a  moment  from 
behind  the  curtains  with  blanched  face  and  star- 
ing eyes. 

There  was  time  for  neither  remonstrance  nor 
advice  from  Laville;  the  man  advanced,  and 
presently  came  to  the  threshold.  Laville  care- 
lessly took  his  sword  from  the  table  and  was  pol- 
ishing it  when  Poche — for  it  was  he — knocked  on 
the  open  portal. 

"Ho,  there,  Rossart,  thou  flatterer  of  fair 
faces  and  winner  of  errant  dames!  Are  you 
within?"  Again  he  rapped  with  a  resounding 
noise. 

"Enter,"  said  Laville,  without  looking  up  and 
271 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

still  rubbing  his  sword.  "Methinks  you  have 
come  to  the  wrong  place,  my  wanderer.  Rossart 
is  not  here,  but  perchance  you  will  find  him  at 
his  house." 

"  Peste  !  what  devils  there  are  here  !  I  went  to 
his  house,  and,  not  content  with  lying  to  me, 
they  must  send  me  walking  at  this  hour  of  the 
moon.  A  thousand  pardons,  good  soldier,  and  a 
thousand  thanks,"  said  Poche,  with  a  bravado 
air.  Then,  sweeping  his  plumed  hat  from  his 
head,  he  bowed  waggishly. 

"I'm  Poche — Captain  Poche — at  your  service 
— captain  of  the  king's  guard  from  France.  What 
in  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  this  town?  No 
wine — no  water.  Sang  Dieu !  what  does  a  man 
do  for  drink?" 

Laville  put  down  his  sword  and  rose  from 
the  table  where  he  had  been  sitting.  He  looked 
gravely  at  the  portly  figure  and  bowed  coldly. 
He  felt  his  face  grow  hot  with  resentment  as 
the  thought  swept  through  him  that  this  was 
Jeanne's  husband.  "I  am  at  your  service, 
Monsieur  Poche,"  he  said,  with  difficulty  con- 
trolling his  voice. 

"Doubtless  you  have  heard  of  me,"  said  Po- 
che, with  tipsy  importance,  "for  Madame  Poche, 
my  wife,  is  somewhere  in  the  settlement.  You 
know  her?" 

"In  so  small  a  community  we  know  all,"  said 
Laville,  quietly,  "  and  one  of  madame's  grace  and 

272 


THE     UNEXPECTED 

beauty  could  scarcely  hope  to  escape  observa- 
tion.    I  have  met  madame." 

Poche  laughed  easily. 

"Jeanne  makes  easy  conquests,"  he  said, 
lightly ;  "  but  your  name,  monsieur,  and  tell  me 
if  you  know  aught  of  Rossart." 

Laville  motioned  Poche"  to  a  seat  and  rested 
himself  on  the  table,  carelessly  playing  with  a 
pistol  lying  there. 

"I  am  called  Laville/'  he  said,  gravely. 

Poche  turned  towards  him  with  a  drunken 
stare.  "Ah!  the  friend  of  Bienville?"  he  asked, 
with  studied  carelessness.  "  Yes,  I've  heard  your 
name  before." 

"  Doubtless.  I  am  not  in  favor  at  the  court. 
There  are  bold  traitors  playing  with  my  name." 
He  folded  his  arms  and  fearlessly  watched  the 
other's  face. 

The  candle-light  flushed  Poch6's  cheeks  to  a 
deeper  red,  and  he  stared  at  Laville,  finding  it 
hard  to  believe  that  this  calm,  self-contained  man 
could  be  the  treacherous  fellow  represented  by 
Rossart. 

There  was  a  momentary  silence.  Poche  was 
a  trifle  embarrassed  by  Laville's  searching  scru- 
tiny, but  his  brain  was  too  befogged  to  think 
clearly. 

"Have  you  heard  hereabouts  of  a  messenger 
from  the  king?"  he  asked,  lowering  his  voice. 

Laville  nodded. 

273 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"There  has  been  some  such  threat  in  the  air 
for  months,"  he  said,  "but  until  events  happen 
it  is  best  not  to  be  foreshadowed  by  them.  We 
of  the  wilderness  never  portend  a  storm  until  it 
comes/' 

"I  must  see  Rossart,"  said  Poche,  ignoring 
Laville's  words.  "Between  him  and  my  wife 
lies  a  story  of  treachery,  but  Jeanne  will  know." 
He  spoke  in  low,  muddled  tones,  as  though  to 
himself.  "  The  king  gave  her  a  letter,  you  see — 
she  will  know  where  it  is.  Between  you  and 
me,"  he  went  on  in  tipsy  confidence,  "there's 
been  the  devil  of  a  mess  somewhere,  and  —  I 
want  that  packet — it  may  be  a  matter  of  life 
and  death  to  me — you  see?" 

Laville  started,  fired  with  jealous  distrust. 
"Ah,  Rossart — the  traitor!"  he  mused,  and  then, 
aloud,  "You  mean  you  will  suffer  for  a  crime 
not  of  your  making  if  you  do  not  find  that 
letter?"  His  voice  was  steady,  but  great  pas- 
sion marked  his  face  with  deep-set  lines. 

There  was  a  muffled  sound  behind  the  win- 
dow-curtain. 

"What  the  devil  is  that  noise?"  asked  Poche. 

"A  rat,  I  suppose,  that  has  strayed  from  its 
hole.  There  are  many  hereabouts." 

"  Humph!"  said  Poche.  "  Why  don't  you  rout 
them  out?"  He  shuddered  and  cowered  in  his 
seat.  "I  despise  them.  I  like  not  your  com- 
pany here,"  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "Hideous 

274 


THE    UNEXPECTED 

suggestions  lurk  behind  your  walls.  Quick ! 
Direct  me  to  d'Artin's  house,  where  my  wife 
lives."  He  yawned  sleepily,  then  rose  and  shook 
himself.  "I'd  like  to  get  hold  of  those  rascals 
of  Rossart's.  To  the  devil  with  them !  You  are 
certain  he  has  not  been  here?" 

"I  have  just  come  home,  and  you  have  been 
the  first  to  enter.  You  can  see  for  yourself  my 
rooms  are  empty.  I  will  direct  you  to  d'Artin's 
house  at  once." 

"Thanks.  You  are  not  half  a  bad  fellow, 
Laville,"  replied  Poche,  but  he  made  no  effort 
to  go,  and  would  fain  have  sat  down  again. 

"Take  two  turns  back  to  the  right,  then  two 
to  the  left,  and  thence  on  to  the  river.  There 
are  shorter  ways,  but  the  masses  of  tall  weeds 
and  grasses  are  filled  with  reptiles — " 

Again  Poche  shuddered.  "  This  whole  place  is 
like  a  nightmare,"  he  interrupted.  "I  like  not 
your  New  Orleans  by  moonlight.  It  looks  like 
one  vast  camping-ground  for  an  army  of  ghosts. 
Wherever  you  look  you  see  some  gray  shape 
beckoning — beckoning,  always  beckoning — and 
when  you  get  there  it  is  only  the  devilish 
trees." 

"You  will  have  no  trouble  finding  your  way, 
though  it  is  a  trifle  long.  You  will  reach  d'Ar- 
tin's in  safety.  Good -night,  monsieur."  La- 
ville raised  the  candle  from  the  table  and  started 
for  the  door. 

275 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

Poche  looked  at  him  in  stupid  astonishment, 
and  followed  him  unwittingly. 

"Good-night,"  said  Laville.  "I  think  you 
will  find  the  letter.  The  cardinal  is  a  wise  man. 
Never  fear,  Captain  Poche,  the  king's  messenger 
will  be  faithful." 

"Ay,  that's  the  worst  of  it,"  cried  Poche— "too 
damnably  faithful." 

Laville  watched  Poche  until  he  slowly  disap- 
peared from  sight.  Then  he  turned  away,  sick 
at  heart,  embittered,  sad.  Why  had  he  dared 
hope  she  was  true?  She  had  duped  him  for 
Rossart,  and  used  him  as  a  medium  for  his  safe- 
ty. Oh,  he  saw  it  all  now ;  it  was  a  rude  awak- 
ening, and  yet  he  might  have  known.  His 
meeting  with  her  and  the  subsequent  develop- 
ments had  been  a  strange  combination  of  events 
to  that  end.  A  sort  of  fury  seized  him. 

She  had  stepped  from  her  hiding-  place,  and 
confronted  him  as  he  re-entered  the  room.  She 
did  not  speak,  but  the  color  rose  in  her  cheeks 
and  her  fingers  trembled  as  they  closed  over  each 
other.  There  was  a  sort  of  dreamy  abandon  in 
her  pose  that  brought  back  the  first  days  of  her 
coming  to  Louisiana. 

"So  you  are  the  king's  messenger?"  The 
words  broke  from  him  in  bitter  denuncia- 
tion. 

"Well?"  She  held  her  head  high,  all  her  in- 
dignation aroused  by  his  distrust.  Even  her 

276 


THE    UNEXPECTED 

lips  turned  cold,  and  her  eyes  were  no  longer 
tender. 

"  Are  you  going  to  sacrifice  your  husband  and 
others  without  a  word,  and  all  for  that  man — 
disloyal  to  your  king  and  country  and  a  trai- 
tor to  your  womanhood?  Ah,  mon  Dieu  !"  His 
voice  was  full  of  deep-throbbing  pain,  and  his 
eyes  flashed  with  jealous  anger. 

A  look  of  agony  passed  over  her  face,  which 
he  interpreted  as  mute  acknowledgment  of  her 
guilt. 

"Take  your  ill-starred  packet!"  He  drew  out 
the  letter  from  the  bosom  of  his  doublet  and  threw 
it  at  her  feet.  "Take  it!  Its  very  touch  burns 
me!  Only  a  woman  could  be  guilt}71  of  such  a 
crime."  He  turned  instantly  from  her  and  strode 
out  of  the  room. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  dumfounded,  then 
gropingly  gathered  up  the  packet.  She  held  it 
deliberating,  hesitant,  and  then  stretched  it 
towards  the  candle-flame.  "It  would  save  him/' 
she  faltered.  "  But  I  cannot,  I  cannot — my  hus- 
band, my  duty." 

She  dropped  her  hands  wearily,  with  a  hope- 
less sob.  She  caught  at  the  table  for  sup- 
port, trembling  with  sudden  weakness.  Yes,  she 
would  do  her  duty.  Outside,  on  the  gallery,  a 
mocking-bird  began  its  song  of  love.  Laville's 
voice,  speaking  to  Marcello,  penetrated  to  the 
great  bare  chamber  —  so  strong,  so  kind,  so 

277 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

gentle    to    his    servant,    and,    ah,    so    cruel    to 
her! 

She  stretched  out  her  arms  yearningly  to  the 
blank  walls,  and  a  hopeless  misery  settled  on 
her  face.  "My  love — my  love!"  she  murmured. 
"Oh,  cruel  fate!  I  would  have  saved  you,  and 
now  I  must  save  my  husband;  but  it  may  mean 
death  to  you." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE    MEETING 

IT  was  near  dawn  when  Jeanne  reached  d'Ar- 
tin's  house. 

The  moon  had  gone,  and  a  slow,  misty  rain  had 
set  in,  which  now  came  down  so  fast  that  the 
streets  were  like  rivers  and  the  ditches  raging 
torrents. 

Just  as  dawn  was  approaching  Jeanne  heard 
a  shrill,  thin  bugle-call  on  the  river,  mingling 
with  the  sound  of  the  rain.  It  must  be  from  the 
ship  that  had  brought  her  husband ;  the  thought 
quickened  her  mind  into  activity.  She  looked 
out  of  one  of  the  windows — how  long  wrould  it  be 
before  he  came?  She  could  see  the  dim  out- 
lines of  a  ship  in  the  vast  sea  of  gloom,  and 
she  turned  a  shade  paler,  wrondering  what  Po- 
che  would  say  to  her.  She  did  not  go  to  bed 
at  all,  but  waited  for  him,  still  arrayed  in  her 
ball-gown,  without  a  thought  of  her  appearance. 

She  turned  from  the  window  and  paced  the 
floor  in  nervous  unrest.  The  terrible  scene  she 
had  just  gone  through  was  swallowed  up  in  the 
thought  of  the  ordeal  before  her  upon  her  hus- 

279 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

band's  arrival.  Laville  and  Poche — they  kept 
coming  into  her  mind,  warring  with  each  other. 
What  a  contrast  they  presented!  Laville,  in  his 
worn  uniform,  pale  and  resolute,  strong  in  his 
young  manhood;  and  Poche,  his  clothes  of  the 
latest  French  fashion,  and  his  maudlin  eyes  and 
puffy  cheeks  flushed  with  wine.  Strange  that 
her  life  should  be  so  bound  up,  yet  torn  asunder, 
by  these  two  men,  so  unlike,  so  opposite  in  every 
way. 

In  vain  she  tried  to  quell  the  emotions  that 
crowded  fast  upon  her  thoughts.  Her  heart  was 
tortured  with  despair  and  her  eyes  blinded  with 
tears.  To  be  true,  she  must  surely  give  up  the 
packet  now,  and  yet  what  agony  to  know  that 
in  so  doing  she  would  sacrifice  Laville.  He  was 
her  life,  her  very  soul.  How  bitter  she  had  al- 
ways been  in  her  condemnation  of  women  who 
seemingly  stepped  aside  from  the  conventional 
paths  of  life!  In  Versailles  she  had  come  in  con- 
tact more  than  once  with  such  women,  condon- 
ing their  weaknesses,  but  refusing  to  understand 
their  conduct,  judging  their  shortcomings  by  her 
own  sense  of  superiority.  She  went  to  the  win- 
dow again  and  looked  out  on  the  dawn,  with  her 
face  uplifted  to  the  dull,  murky  sky. 

"My  course  is  justified,"  she  murmured,  in 
self-defence.  "I  must  sacrifice  him.  At  least  I 
shall  do  what  is  right.  That  is  all  that  is  left 
to  me  now — my  duty  to  my  husband." 

280 


THE    MEETING 

Nothing  seemed  to  matter  now.  Love  had 
proved  to  her  a  martyrdom — its  outcome,  renun- 
ciation bitter  as  death,  hopeless  as  the  grave. 
It  was  a  tragic  ending  to  the  delicious  rapture  of 
love's  beginnings  in  her;  an  ignoble  satire  on 
the  waking  dreams  of  her  womanhood.  Her  face 
was  drawn  with  pain  at  the  swift  memory.  She 
turned  from  the  window  and  threw  up  her  arms, 
tortured  by  the  piercing  remembrance  of  her 
brief  happiness.  She  paced  the  floor,  agonized, 
and  great  sobs  shook  her  tempestuously. 

"It  was  all  wrong  from  the  beginning,"  she 
wailed,  piteously.  "All  wrong — and  there  was 
none  to  warn  me,  to  help  me.  I  have  been  so 
lonely — so  lonely  always,  and  none  to  under- 
stand me.  If  love  had  only  come  in  time — ah, 
God!  why  did  he  come  so  late?" 

She  fiercely  pressed  her  hands  to  her  breast, 
battling  with  herself.  Gradually  the  storm  of 
her  emotions  spent  itself,  and  she  grew  calmer. 

"And  yet  I  regret  nothing;  I  cannot  repent. 
It  is  better  to  have  loved  and  suffered;  he  be- 
longs to  me — I  know  it,  though  he  has  been  so 
cruel.  He  is  mine — mine,  always — to  all  eter- 
nity, though  I  should  never  see  him  again  nor 
listen  to  his  voice." 

The  innocent  rapture  of  her  girlhood  came 
back  to  her,  expectant,  vibrating,  joyous.  As 
then,  so  now  she  refused  to  recognize  the  creeds 
of  her  world.  Her  young  life  had  been  interfused 

281 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

with  the  beauty  and  loveliness  of  nature,  her 
spirit  had  bathed  in  that  subtle,  divine  air  that 
breathed  in  the  flowers,  in  the  skies,  the  dawn, 
and  the  sunset,  the  wide  expanses  of  the  universe. 
Though  Laville's  love  had  been  a  temptation, 
never  for  one  single  instant  had  she  deviated 
from  her  duty  to  Poche.  With  the  sudden  recol- 
lection of  her  husband  came  an  overwhelming 
sense  of  the  hopelessness  of  her  situation. 

"Too  late,  too  late!  Oh,  what  have  I  done?" 
she  moaned,  in  the  oppressive  agony  of  her  soul. 

Her  thoughts  began  to  drift  again  to  the  man 
she  loved.  The  great  tears  blinded  her.  She 
knew  she  could  only  mete  out  pain  to  him,  and 
she  would  be  repaid  with  oblivion.  "Oh,  not 
that,  not  that!"  she  moaned.  "Not  oblivion; 
love  me,  Julian  —  think  of  me  always!  Cost 
what  it  will,  I  cannot  bear  to  be  forgotten." 
She  uttered  a  stifled  cry  and  rose  to  her  feet. 
She  lighted  more  candles  on  the  dressing-table 
and  looked  in  the  mirror  at  the  reflection  of 
her  haggard  beauty,  at  the  splendidly  arrayed 
figure.  She  scorned  the  fair  image.  "Bah!" 
with  a  shudder.  "I  hate  myself.  I  hate  those 
big  eyes  and  that  white  throat."  She  peered 
long  and  earnestly  at  the  sad,  tragic  eyes, 
gleaming  so  wild  and  strange  at  her.  "True 
—  true  to  the  end,  my  soul  —  you  and  I," 
she  whispered,  defiantly.  "We  know  —  what- 
ever the  cruel  world  may  say."  Then,  with 

282 


THE    MEETING 

a  baffled  cry  of  longing  and  despair,  she  sank 
on  the  floor  by  the  dressing-table  and  buried 
her  head  in  her  hands,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  She  had  searched  for  human 
sympathy  and  truth,  and  she  had  found  them 
— too  late. 

Suddenly,  through  the  silence,  disturbed  only 
by  her  passionate  sobs,  a  wet,  draggled  gum-ball 
fell  through  the  window  on  the  floor  at  her  feet. 
A  husky  voice  she  knew  only  too  well  called  up 
to  her  in  a  hoarse  whisper : 

"  Jeanne,  are  you  there?  It  is  I — Emile,  your 
husband." 

She  started  to  her  feet  and  took  a  step  forward 
with  outstretched  hands  as  if  in  protest.  For  one 
brief  instant  her  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating. 
The  lights  danced  before  her,  and  her  breath 
came  in  gasps.  A  sudden  gust  of  wind  blew 
in  at  one  of  the  open  windows  and  extinguished 
some  of  the  candles.  Poche  moved  impatiently 
on  the  lower  gallery.  She  closed  her  eyes  and 
clasped  her  hands  tight  over  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  God,  let  me  die  first!" 

Poche  knocked  on  the  door  again.  She  stood 
up  straight  and  cold,  and  pulled  herself  together. 
Summoning  her  remaining  strength,  she  crept 
through  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs.  Groping 
in  the  dark,  she  found  the  latch,  and,  with  one 
last  overwrought  effort,  pulled  back  the  bolt  and 
fell  on  the  floor  in  a  dead  faint. 

283 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

Poche  stepped  in.  He  stumbled  over  his  wife's 
prostrate  figure,  but  quickly  stooped  down  and 
lifted  her  up.  "  In  Heaven's  name,  Jeanne,  what 
is  the  matter?  Are  you  ill?"  He  listened,  fright- 
ened by  the  silence.  Then,  gathering  her  in  his 
arms,  he  carried  her  up  the  stairs,  following  the 
^glimmer  of  light  which  came  from  her  chamber/ 
He  laid  her  on  the  bed  and  bathed  her  face,  re- 
garding her  with  anxiety  and  amazement.  He 
disliked  demands  on  his  sympathy,  and  had  ex- 
pected to  find  Jeanne  waiting  for  him  with  her 
bright  vivacity  and  native  pride,  which  distin- 
guished her  over  there  in  France.  Now  there 
were  sad  little  lines  traced  on  her  face  which  told 
a  story  of  conflict  and  pain.  He  noted  the  bold 
grace  of  her  unconscious  form  in  its  gay  ball- 
dress.  He  recalled  the  happy  girl  who  had 
queened  it  so  royally  at  the  French  court,  and 
there  seemed  something  incongruous  about  this 
prostrate  woman  with  the  look  of  suffering  in 
her  face  when  he  thought  of  her  former  defiant 
beauty.  His  small  black  eyes  gleamed  with  a 
quick  fire  when  he  remembered  her  triumphs, 
even  how  she  had  won  the  favor  of  the  young 
king,  Louis  XV.,  for  him,  her  husband.  He  con- 
tinued to  bathe  her  forehead  and  chafe  her 
hands. 

At  last  Jeanne  opened  her  eyes  and  saw  Poche 
standing  over  her.  She  looked  about  with  a 
dazed,  dreaming  glance.  She  rubbed  her  eyes. 

284 


THE    MEETING 

"You,  Emile?"  she  said,  with  a  wan  smile.  "I 
think  I  must  have  fainted.  I  fear  I  am  — 
ill." 

She  raised  herself  on  the  bed.  He  threw  his 
arms  about  her,  only  half  sobered.  His  eyes 
shone,  and  he  laughed  again  as  he  crushed  her 
soft  body  to  him  for  an  instant. 

"Don't,  Emile;  please  don't,"  she  beseeched, 
hastily  drawing  herself  feebly  away  and  sitting 
up  white  and  strange  against  the  pillows.  "I 
— I — feel  faint  again.  We  were  at  the  ball  last 
night — we — that  is,  I — came  home  late — I  must 
have  danced  too  much." 

Poche  had  never  seen  his  wife  like  this;  her 
pride  of  bearing  gone,  her  very  voice  dulled  with 
sadness,  and  her  face  ashen.  She  rose  to  her 
feet  with  difficulty  and  walked  to  one  of  the  win- 
dows. The  gray  dawn  was  faintly  tinged  with 
red  in  the  east.  White  mists  hung  over  the  river, 
and  a  breeze  wafted  moist  odors  from  the  garden. 
She  extinguished  the  candles,  and  then  paused 
before  her  husband  with  her  head  thrown  back 
in  a  well-remembered  attitude,  a  crimson  spot 
burning  in  each  cheek. 

Poche  advanced  and  attempted  to  throw  his 
arm  around  her. 

"  Don't  touch  me.  For  God's  sake,  don't  touch 
me!" 

Poche  laughed  confusedly.  "You  are  an  odd 
little  devil,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  suspiciously 

285 


THE    KING'S     MESSENGER 

from  under  lowering  brows.     "Peste!  what  does 
it  mean?" 

She  grew  chilly  again.  "  I  am  overwrought — 
tired  out,"  she  said,  lamely. 

The  rain  still  fell  with  melancholy  monotony. 
Something  in  the  sound  made  Jeanne  more  mis- 
erable. She  caught  a  sob  in  her  throat  and 
clenched  her  teeth. 

"You  will  be  all  right  in  the  morning/'  said 
Poche,  throwing  off  his  damp  coat.  "  Climb  into 
your  nest  now  as  quick  as  you  can." 

Jeanne  made  a  vain  effort  to  speak.  It  seem- 
ed that  she  had  forgotten  everything  and  was 
yielding  to  some  compelling  force.  She  watched 
Poche  unfasten  his  silver-hilted  rapier  and  toss 
it  carelessly  on  the  floor,  one  speculation  chas- 
ing another  in  her  sluggish  brain.  A  dreadful 
anguish  took  hold  of  her.  She  felt  that  some- 
thing must  be  done.  To-morrow  Poche  would 
know  all — he  must — she  wanted  him  to  know. 
She  would  not  deceive  him.  She  had  never  loved 
him,  but  she  could  not  stand  infamy — now.  She 
trembled  violently,  mute,  pitiful,  with  a  terrible 
fear  in  her  eyes.  The  silence,  but  for  the  falling 
of  the  rain,  was  intense.  At  last  she  began  to 
speak  in  broken  words. 

"Emile,  leave  me — leave  me — you  must  leave 
me!" 

She  raised  her  head  in  her  old,  dauntless  way, 
but  the  words  came  with  an  effort. 

286 


THE     MEETING 

"  Go  to  some  other  chamber.  Don't  stay  here 
now.  Across  the  hall  you  will  find  a  chamber 
prepared  for  you.  I  want  to  be  alone  now — I 
must  be  alone.  Please,  Emile — nay,  nay,  but 
you  must." 

"What  does  this  mean?"  Poche  demanded, 
fiercely. 

Jeanne  shuddered  violently  as  mad  thoughts 
went  racing  through  her  brain. 

The  instinct  of  suspicion  was  now  aroused  in 
Poche.  He  still  retained  sufficient  self  -  posses- 
sion not  to  touch  her,  but  he  lost  his  temper  com- 
pletely and  spoke  angrily. 

"Thousand  devils!     Are  you  mad,  madame?" 

A  sudden  flame  leaped  into  her  eyes,  and  quick 
words  broke  from  her  in  involuntary  defence. 

"  You  have  never  understood.  You  have  never 
tried." 

"  Dieu!  What  devilish  fancy  has  taken  pos- 
session of  your  brain  now?"  exclaimed  Poche. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  shrank  back  against 
the  footboard  of  the  bed  and  stared  with  tragic 
intentness. 

"Have  you  found  at  last  that  you  have  no 
need  for  me?"  he  demanded,  hoarsely. 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  bit  her  under  lip  to 
keep  it  from  quivering. 

"Speak!"  he  cried,  standing  over  her  threat- 
eningly. "Speak,  I  say,  or  I  will  kill  you."  He 
seized  her  arm  and  shook  it  roughly. 

287 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

Like  a  flash  she  pulled  herself  from  his  grip. 
Panting  and  scornful,  she  looked  him  steadily  in 
the  eyes,  superb  in  her  fearless  pride. 

"You  have  spoken  truly." 

She  spoke  unfalteringly  now,  with  a  new  cour- 
age, her  bosom  heaving  and  her  eyes  sparkling. 

"There  was  a  time,  perhaps,  when  it  might 
have  been  different.  But  your  frequent  infideli- 
ties made  that  impossible  long  ago.  God  knows 
I  do  not  want  to  accuse  you,  but  how  have  you 
helped  me?  All  my  life  I  have  hungered  for  love 
— to  love  and  be  beloved." 

Her  tone  stung  Poche  to  madness. 

"You  love  another?" 

The  words  broke  from  him  in  suspicious  rage. 
The  gray  morning  light  from  the  windows  fell 
upon  his  face.  It  was  flushed  and  brutish. 

"Answer  me,"  he  cried,  "or  by  the  holy  Vir- 
gin, I  will  kill  you." 

A  brave  light  came  into  her  eyes,  though  the 
pathos  of  her  destiny  smote  her  with  cruel  op- 
pression. Her  lips  quivered.  The  platitudes  and 
trivialities  of  life  seemed  far  off  then  in  the  face 
of  this  tragedy. 

"You  are  right.  I  do  love  another,  though  I 
would  have  spared  you  that.  I  love  him  so  well 
that  I  would  give  my  life  for  him.  Were  I  not 
your  wife,  I  would  follow  him  to  the  end  of  the 
world,  though  he  were  a  beggar.  Yours  has 
been  the  crime  without  the  soul,  mine  is  the  soul 

288 


THE    MEETING 

without  the  crime.  Judge  for  yourself  which  of 
us  is  most  to  blame." 

"Curse  you!"  he  hissed,  and  would  have  said 
more,  but  she  stayed  him  for  a  moment  with  a 
look.  He  broke  into  a  sneering  laugh.  "No 
man  expects  to  find  his  wife  true  nowadays,  and 
you  are  not  the  first  of  your  sex  to  help  yourself 
to  a  lover  in  your  husband's  absence;  but  you 
are  mine — my  wife,  to  do  with  as  I  will.  Do 
you  hear? — mine,  I  say!" 

She  looked  steadily  at  him,  too  proud  to  reply. 

He  winced  under  her  calm  gaze  and  changed 
his  manner.  "  Have  you  no  regard  for  me  after 
all  these  years,  have  you  no  thought — you  know 
I  trusted  you?" 

"That  is  what  I  do  care  for."  There  was  a 
piteous  wail  in  her  voice.  "I  know  you  trusted 
me.  I  want  to  be  honest  with  you.  Can  you 
not  see  that  I  am  your  friend  yet?  I  cannot  love 
you  as  a  wife  should,  but  I  can  do  my  duty — " 

"  Then  where  is  that  despatch,  Jeanne?  You 
must  know.  They  say  it  has  not  been  delivered. 
Give  it  to  me.  I  have  the  password — 'In  the 
king's  name.'  I  tell  you  I  must  have  it  before 
Rossart  sees  it.  Strange  tales  have  lately  come 
to  France  about  him.  I  must — I  will  have  that 
packet.  Do  you  hear?  Give  it  to  me.  I  will 
leave  you  then — an}Tthing — only  give  me  the  de- 
spatch." 

Jeanne   had   never   seen   him   so   distraught. 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

Daylight  was  flooding  the  room,  and  his  face 
looked  ghastly.  The  convent  bell  began  to  ring. 
At  the  sound  Jeanne  dropped  her  head.  Father 
Beauvois  was  right;  the  eyes  of  France  were 
upon  her.  She  stood  in  silence  for  an  instant, 
helpless,  torn  by  conflicting  emotions. 

They  were  both  trembling.  He  drew  nearer 
until  she  could  feel  his  hot  breath  on  her  face 
while  he  poured  forth  passionate  vituperations. 

"Look  at  me!"  he  suddenly  commanded. 

Her  eyes  met  his  without  fear. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  afraid?"  she  said.  "Do 
you  think  I  would  taunt  you  at  a  moment  like 
this?" 

"Then  why  lie  to  me?" 

"So  you  think  I  would  lie?  If  I  were  a  base 
woman  I  could  deceive  you,  and  you  would  be 
none  the  wiser.  Listen  to  me.  I  will  return  the 
packet  unopened,  but  not  now.  I  will  give  it 
up,  but  you  will  never  know  what  it  has  cost 
me." 

She  paused,  and  her  voice  wailed  pitifully 
through  the  room. 

"I  vowed  before  you  came  that  if  this  issue 
arose  I  would  do  my  duty.  Now  leave  me.  I 
have  answered  you." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
D'ARTIN'S    ADVICE 

MADAME  and  d'Artin  had  finished  their 
breakfast  when  Jeanne  came  down  the  next 
morning.  Madame  had  gone  to  see  a  sick  friend, 
and  d'Artin  was  waiting  to  see  Jeanne.  He  had 
met  Poche  earlier,  and  there  had  been  a  slight  ex- 
planation, but  he  hoped  to  hear  the  truth  from 
Jeanne. 

He  had  been  troubled  all  night.  The  sound  of 
her  voice  as  it  came  to  him  in  the  silent  hours 
while  his  wife  slept  had  haunted  him,  and  he 
slept  but  little  after,  and,  when  he  did,  harass- 
ing dreams  tortured  him.  The  conviction  that 
Jeanne  loved  Laville  was  a  chilling  agony,  and 
could  hardly  be  endured.  When  he  approached 
Jeanne  as  she  came  down-stairs  there  was  a  curi- 
ous reticence  in  his  manner  for  a  few  minutes. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Jeanne.  I  have  just 
learned  of  your  difference  with  Emile." 

She  opened  her  eyes  wonderingly  and  shrug- 
ged her  shoulders.  She  flashed  a  quick  glance 
at  him  and  passed  on  indifferently  to  the  din- 
ing-room, where  he  followed  her.  Celie  was 

291 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

there  with  the  coffee,  but  as  soon  as  Jeanne  had 
been  served  they  were  left  alone  together. 

After  the  negress  had  gone  he  stood  for  a  few 
minutes,  embarrassed  and  unhappy,  with  the 
warm  blood  coming  and  going  in  his  smooth, 
beardless  cheeks. 

"Won't  you  sit  down,  Cousin  Antoine?"  she 
asked. 

He  took  a  seat  across  the  table  from  her.  He 
hardly  knew  what  to  say  to  her.  He  had  an  un- 
formed idea  that  she  might  resent  any  interfer- 
ence in  her  affairs,  and  yet,  as  her  protector,  he 
must  say  something. 

"You  are  not  happy  with  your  husband, 
Jeanne?" 

He  hesitated,  as  though  waiting  for  some  con- 
firmation of  his  words. 

She  drank  her  coffee  deliberately  and  set  the 
cup  down.  She  looked  straight  into  her  cousin's 
eyes,  with  a  dim  idea  of  appealing  to  him  for  si- 
lence, feeling  that  in  her  overwrought  condition 
she  could  scarcely  stand  further  strain. 

"  No."    She  gave  a  great  gulp. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  him  this  morning.  He  says 
he  will  remain  here  for  the  present." 

She  started  violently. 

"You  will  have  to  bear  meeting  him,  Jeanne. 
Our  good  name  demands  it.  He  will  return  when 
the  ship  sails,  and  meanwhile  I  promise  you  he 
will  not  trouble  you." 

292 


D'ARTIN'S     ADVICE 

She  looked  relieved. 

D'Artin  looked  at  her  with  all  the  old  tender- 
ness in  his  eyes  that  had  ever  melted  her  child- 
ish heart. 

"He  is  not  a  bad  man,  Jeanne." 

Her  sole  response  was  a  stare  and  a  scowl. 
She  felt  that  if  she  attempted  to  speak  she  would 
cry  out. 

"You  are  my  cousin,  almost  my  sister." 

Her  thoughts  and  emotions  were  rapidly  cha%- 
ing  each  other.  The  details  of  the  past  few 
months,  the  battle  with  herself,  the  rapture  of 
her  love,  the  misery  and  renunciation,  and  then, 
last,  her  husband's  arrival,  were  all  registered 
with  exacting  fidelity. 

"I  know  you  have  not  loved  Emile,"  said  d'Ar- 
tin,  gravely,  "but  you  used  to  find  him  a  good 
companion."  He  laughed  nervously. 

She  winced,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  other  room,"  she  said,  shortly. 

They  passed  from  the  dining-room  into  the 
hall  and  sat  down  near  the  door.  The  vapors  had 
cleared,  and  a  fresh  breeze  mingled  with  the 
scent  of  the  river  and  the  roses.  Jeanne  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  wearily  and  stared  at  her  cousin 
with  brooding,  melancholy  eyes.  D'Artin  bent 
slightly  forward  and  spoke  in  his  gentlest  tones, 
observing  the  misery  in  her  face  and  attitude. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  brutal  with  you,"  he  said, 
"and  I  have  thought  of  late  that  I  may  have 

293 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

seemed  harsh,  but  I  have  been  distraught  about 
you." 

She  suppressed  an  exclamation  of  assent  and 
kept  her  eyes  on  the  floor. 

"You  are  a  creature  of  the  moment,"  he  said, 
sadly,  "and  the  ghost  of  your  deeds  may  come 
back  to  haunt  you." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  You  have  given  freely  of  your  nature  to  others 
always,  but  yourself — there  is  something  lacking 
there — a  want  that  has  never  been  satisfied.  Look 
at  me,  Jeanne.  I  understand.  Years  ago,  in 
France,  I  loved  Leontine  Dupaquier  and  was 
loved  by  her." 

Jeanne  started.  She  remembered  the  beauti- 
ful girl  who  had  been  sacrificed  as  a  victim  to 
her  father's  ambition. 

"  I  never  forget  those  days,  Jeanne,  but  I  have 
mastered  myself." 

"I  did  not  suspect  this." 

"Oh,  Jeanne,  you  are  smiling  now.  You  are 
another  woman  when  you  smile.  You  think  me 
incapable  of  understanding  your  heart,  but  what 
you  are  suffering  now  I  have  suffered.  I  know 
you  love  Laville.  It  is  madness.  I  speak  from 
my  heart,  and  for  your  own  good." 

She  continued  to  watch  his  flushed  face,  but 
made  no  reply. 

"Jeanne,  when  I  leave  this  world,"  he  contin- 
ued, bravely,  "  I  know  that  that  woman's  name 

294 


D'ARTIN'S     ADVICE 

will  be  on  my  lips  and  her  image  in  my  heart. 
I  have  suffered  and  endured.  I  have  known  the 
wildest  rapture,  and  I  have  experienced  the  deep- 
est misery.  Perchance  I  did  wrong,  but  I  have 
tried  to  be  a  man.  Here  in  this  wilderness  I  live 
my  life  and  try  to  forget.  It  seems  the  fate 
of  our  race,  child,  to  love  without  love's  re- 
ward." 

She  reached  over  and  took  his  hand  and  pat- 
ted it  caressingly. 

"Poor  Antoine!  I  never  thought  this  of  you. 
And  you  always  so  light-hearted." 

"The  deepest  griefs  are  the  deepest  buried/' 
he  answered,  briefly.  "But  you  will  make  up 
this  difference  with  your  husband,  Jeanne?  You 
have  done  him  grievous  wrong,  but  I  do  not  con- 
demn you — I  can  only  beg  that  you  will  become 
reconciled  to  your  husband." 

She  shook  her  head  slowly  and  loosened  her 
grasp  on  his  hands. 

"  I  cannot.  I  could  not  live  with  him  now. 
It  is  too  late.  It  seems  to  me  there  can  be  no 
greater  crime  than  to  live  a  lie.  Oh,  cousin,  we 
can  wear  smiling  faces,  but  we  cannot  tear  the 
passion  out  of  our  hearts." 

She  shivered  with  sudden  foreboding. 

"I  have  tried  to  be  true — but  I  have  failed." 

She  turned  to  him  with  sudden  fierceness. 

"  You  believe  in  me,  you  love  me,  Antoine?" 

"Whatever  comes,   little  cousin,"  d'Artin  re- 
295 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

plied,  softly,  "  I  shall  stand  by  you  and  love  you 
to  the  end.  The  romance  of  a  life  comes  but  once, 
but  it  lasts  always.  The  glamour  lives  on  after 
the  reality  has  faded,  softened  by  distance  and 
hallowed  by  time." 


CHAPTER   XXV 
A     PRISONER     OF     THE     KING 

ON  the  eventful  night  of  La vi lie's  return  to 
New  Orleans  and  the  arrival  of  Poche,  the 
Natchez  fell  upon  Fort  Rosalie  and  massacred 
two  hundred  and  fifty  people.  The  fort  was  prac- 
tically wiped  out  of  existence,  with  the  exception 
of  the  women  and  children,  who  were  held  as 
prisoners. 

It  was  several  days  before  the  news  reached 
New  Orleans.  In  the  middle  of  December,  1729, 
Sieur  Richard  reached  the  settlement  in  a  ter- 
ror-stricken condition,  with  a  full  account  of  the 
massacre,  which  was  verified  later  by  other  ar- 
rivals. 

Jeanne  heard  the  news  as  she  went  about  the 
town.  In  the  tumult  that  ensued  there  were 
many  versions  of  the  story,  but  the  substance 
was  the  same — Laville  had  favored  the  Indians. 
He  had  concealed  their  leaders  in  the  fort,  and 
at  the  last  moment  abandoned  his  fellow -sol- 
diers to  their  fate  without  a  word  of  warning. 
Day  after  day  this  report  gained  ground,  until 
even  Perier  was  convinced  of  its  truth.  News 
297 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

reached  the  settlement  of  fresh  Indian  atrocities, 
and  the  public  excitement  ran  so  high  that  the 
governor  was  compelled  to  take  action.  At  last 
he  summoned  the  colony  and  neighboring  plant- 
ers up  and  down  the  river  to  a  meeting  in  the 
Place  d'Armes. 

Laville  chafed  under  the  aspersions  cast  upon 
him.  He  had  many  stout  defenders,  but  what 
could  they  do  with  the  government  against  them? 
He  suspected  Rossart,  but  that  wily  individual 
took  care,  while  appearing  to  gather  all  the  evi- 
dence in  the  case,  to  simulate  an  anxiety  to  sift 
the  facts  and  get  at  the  truth.  In  his  own  mind 
he  let  his  confederates  know  he  had  little  doubt 
of  Laville's  complicity.  It  was  consistent  with 
the  policy  of  the  Bienville  faction,  he  argued,  to 
arouse  public  feeling  by  casting  the  blame  of 
these  Indian  atrocities  on  the  present  govern- 
ment. 

One  morning,  just  after  the  call  to  arms  by 
Perier,  Laville  sat  in  his  cabin  planning  a  let- 
ter to  the  governor.  He  could  see  the  tall  grass 
along  the  ditches  stirring  in  the  light  wind.  Lit- 
tle gleams  of  sunlight  shot  through  the  foliage 
of  live-oaks  and  willows,  and  danced  on  the  dark 
water  and  threw  the  dull  shadows  of  the  foliage 
on  the  sombre  surface.  He  looked  towards  the 
levee — a  long,  troubled  look.  In  Louisiana  cour- 
age covered  a  multitude  of  sins.  He  had  not 
lacked  that.  Cheerful  endurance  and  unfailing 
298 


A    PRISONER    OF    THE    KING 

kindness  had  made  him  many  friends.  His  in- 
trepid daring,  his  voyages  of  discovery,  his  trea- 
ties with  the  Indians,  and  his  use  of  the  sword 
had  made  him  a  great  favorite  while  Bienville 
was  in  power.  It  was  natural  to  think  of  him 
as  built  for  power;  he  had  the  brave  spirit  and 
build  of  a  man  who  could  easily  command  in 
any  cause.  His  open  countenance  and  personal 
valor  added  to  his  influence.  He  could  not  rest 
under  this  awful  suspicion.  He  had  been  pre- 
meditating a  letter  to  the  governor  for  several 
days,  and  the  one  distinctly  denned  thought  in 
his  mind  was  to  keep  Jeanne's  name  out  of  this 
affair  at  any  hazard.  He  would  make  no  plea — 
ask  for  no  favor.  He  would  only  crave  permis- 
sion to  leave  the  colony  with  an  untarnished 
name.  What  next?  He  knew  not,  nor  cared. 
He  began : 

"YOUR  EXCELLENCY,— With  deep  concern,  I  find  I 
am  suspected  of  a  crime — " 

Laville  threw  down  the  quill  in  disgust.  Let- 
ter-writing was  perhaps  the  least  of  his  acquire- 
ments, and  his  soul  rose  in  revolt,  not  so  much 
at  the  labor  of  writing  as  at  the  cause  of  it.  Im- 
patient and  rebellious,  he  rose  from  the  table  and 
left  the  room — the  room  haunted  by  memories  of 
Jeanne. 

He  stood  on  the  gallery.  A  strong  wind  came 
in  from  the  Mississippi,  and  the  willows  on  the 

299 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

levee  were  swaying  back  and  forth  like  messen- 
gers hurrying  from  France.  He  gave  a  nervous 
laugh  as  he  thought  of  it.  The  king's  messen- 
ger— Jeanne!  He  had  not  met  his  ideal  woman 
until  Jeanne  came  into  his  life.  He  had  never 
known  a  woman  like  her.  She  would  have  made 
him  such  a  royal  mate ;  hand  in  hand,  they  would 
have  gloried  in  life — but  that  was  all  past  now, 
and  the  world  had  suddenly  grown  dark. 

He  stepped  down  into  the  yard.  A  few  late 
cabbages  were  standing  in  rows.  Marcello  was 
not  a  good  gardener,  and  the  enclosure  was  badly 
laid  out  and  planted.  Laville  stood  bare-headed 
a  moment,  affected  by  the  dismal  aspect,  when 
Jupiter  suddenly  came  bounding  towards  him, 
leaping  at  his  chest  and  nearly  upsetting  his 
master. 

"Down,  Jupiter,  down,  good  dog!"  he  said, 
fondly  patting  the  animal's  head.  "Always 
faithful,  Jupiter.  We  will  stick  together  —  you 
and  I  alone,  to  the  end."  He  stooped  and 
straightened  a  small  rose-bush  that  had  bent 
to  one  side  with  its  weight  of  seed-pods.  La- 
ville had  ever  been  tender  with  the  unfortunate 
things  of  this  world. 

He  went  back  to  the  house  for  his  hat,  fol- 
lowed by  Jupiter.  The  letter  must  wait.  He 
could  not  write  now.  He  would  see  the  gov- 
ernor before  the  meeting  with  the  soldiers  took 
place.  He  made  a  tour  of  the  narrow  path  from 

300 


A    PRISONER     OF    THE    KING 

his  house  to  the  rue  St.  Philippe,  thence  along 
the  rue  Chartres  to  the  Government  House.  The 
city,  though  sparsely  peopled  at  that  day,  was 
already  laid  out  in  streets. 

Although  the  hour  was  early,  Laville  request- 
ed an  immediate  audience  with  the  governor,  but 
was  informed  that  Perier  had  gone  to  the  Place 
d'Armes.  Laville  hastened  from  the  Govern- 
ment House  and  hurried  through  the  gathering 
throng  to  the  Place  d'Armes.  He  found  the 
square  already  the  scene  of  great  excitement 
and  wild  cheering.  Every  man  or  boy  who 
could  hold  a  musket  was  there  to  receive  his 
arms,  and  most  of  them  had  been  supplied  with 
their  weapons  of  war  and  were  leaving  the 
square  when  Laville  arrived.  The  governor 
was  not  in  sight.  There  was  nothing  left  La- 
ville to  do  now  but  to  join  his  company  at  once. 

He  had  gone  but  a  short  distance  with  his 
company  on  the  march  to  the  ramparts  when  he 
suddenly  came  upon  the  governor,  who  was  ap- 
parently waiting  for  them  to  approach.  In  those 
days  the  governor  was  the  supreme  military  com- 
mander of  the  army.  Perier  called  on  Laville  to 
halt,  and  Laville  immediately  called  his  company 
to  order. 

"Captain  Laville,"  said  the  governor,  sternly, 
"I  come  to  demand  your  sword." 

Laville  stood  in  amazement.  The  governor's 
harsh  tone  aroused  his  indignation. 

301 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"In  what  way  have  I  been  so  unfortunate  as 
to  displease  your  excellency?"  inquired  Laville. 

"You  have  been  accused  of  complicity  in  the 
Fort  Rosalie  massacre,"  said  Perier,  calmly. 

The  situation  was  a  trying  one,  but  suspicion 
had  been  levelled  so  directly  with  damaging  evi- 
dence against  Laville  that  the  governor  could  not 
pass  by  the  charge  without  censure.  He  had  re- 
solved to  make  an  example  of  Laville  before  the 
eyes  of  the  colony. 

"By  whom  am  I  accused?"  demanded  Laville. 

"By  many." 

"A  fine  story,  and  doubtless  concocted  by  my 
enemies,"  retorted  Laville,  hotly. 

"Your  sword,  Captain  Laville/'  repeated  the 
governor. 

Resistance  was  useless.  Laville  stepped  for- 
ward and  lifted  his  head  haughtily. 

"This  is  a  grave  injustice,  your  excellency." 

"You  will  be  under  arrest,  Captain  Laville," 
replied  Perier,  as  Laville  handed  him  his  sword, 
"  until  your  trial  takes  place.  You  understand?" 

"Perfectly." 

The  word  broke  from  Laville  in  bitter  vehe- 
mence. He  knew  that  Rossart  was  his  evil 
genius.  This  last  stroke  was  undoubtedly  his 
work.  His  heart  beat  fast,  and  a  strange  mist 
came  before  his  eyes — a  mist  through  which  he 
saw  as  in  a  vision  the  swaying  rose-wall  in  the 
d'Artin  garden,  and  Jeanne's  eyes  fixed  on  him 

302 


A     PRISONER    OF    THE     KING 

in  passionate  pleading.  It  was  the  memory  of 
another  time,  and  the  cruel  reality  of  the  present 
banished  it  in  an  instant.  Did  she  know  of  his 
humiliation?  Surely  not.  Yet  why  should  she 
care — a  woman  who  could  play  so  lightly  with 
the  hearts  of  men?  He  smiled  cheerily  on  his 
company,  then  stepped  aside.  The  governor, 
looking  in  his  face,  marvelled  to  see  the  deep- 
drawn  lines  of  anguish,  as  if  caused  by  mortal 
pain.  But  Laville  only  thought  of  the  woman 
with  the  passionate  eyes  over  yonder  in  the  rose- 
garden — the  woman  who  had  deceived  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
MARCELLO   INTERCEDES 

THAT  night,  when  darkness  had  fallen  upon 
the  little  colony,  Jupiter  went  to  the  d'Artin 
residence.  He  had  been  there  so  frequently  with 
Jeanne  that  she  stood  next  to  his  master  in  his 
canine  affections.  She  could  not  understand  the 
dog's  presence,  knowing  he  was  rarely  away  from 
Laville.  The  animal  looked  at  her  with  great, 
pathetic  eyes,  and  whined  from  time  to  time, 
until  Jeanne  began  to  feel  uneasy  at  the  dog's 
strange  actions.  But  she  was  dressing  for  a  ball, 
and  could  only  comfort  Jupiter  by  an  occasional 
kind  word  and  affectionate  pat,  wondering  the 
while  where  his  master  was. 

When  she  had  dressed,  Jeanne  went  down-stairs. 
Her  cousins  were  still  preparing  for  the  ball.  There 
was  no  light  in  the  hall,  and  Jeanne  stepped  out 
on  the  gallery,  where  a  brilliant  moonlight  shim- 
mered. She  was  still  patting  the  dog's  head,  and 
wondering  about  Laville,  when  Marcello  came  out 
of  the  shadows  below  and  begged  her  to  let  him 
speak  to  her.  Her  heart  beat  tremulously,  and 
she  bade  the  negro  join  her  on  the  gallery. 

304 


MARCELLO    INTERCEDES 

She  looked  upon  the  negro's  patient  face  with 
a  dejected  air  while  she  listened  to  the  story  of 
his  master's  arrest. 

"  Never  fear,  good  Marcello.  Your  master  will 
come  out  of  this  all  right."  She  stood  imperious 
in  the  full  light  of  the  moon.  Excitement  had 
brought  a  sparkle  to  her  eyes,  and  the  negro 
grinned  as  he  looked  at  her  and  thought  her  an 
angel  from  heaven,  a  holy  spectacle,  as  mysteri- 
ous a  creation  to  him  as  the  starry  sky  overhead 
or  the  great  yellow  river  out  yonder.  He  wanted 
to  save  his  master.  He  was  faithful  with  the  best 
he  had  to  give — a  dog's  affection.  He  would 
barter  his  life  for  his  master  if  it  were  necessary. 
He  had  heard  the  dreadful  accusation ;  they  were 
talking  about  it  on  the  streets.  No  one  else 
knew  that  his  master  had  been  in  New  Orleans 
on  that  fateful  night,  except  Rossart  and  Poche. 
Neither  would  speak — they  were  his  enemies, 
and  knew  that  they  held  him  in  a  trap. 

"Never  fear,  Marcello,"  she  said,  as  if  divin- 
ing his  thoughts.  "  They  shall  know  he  was  in 
New  Orleans  that  night.  I,  myself,  will  tell 
them." 

She  looked  at  him,  smiling  through  her  tears. 
Then  she  turned  her  gaze  wistfully  in  the  direc- 
tion where  she  knew  Laville  to  be  confined.  Mar- 
cello  could  not  see  her  face,  only  the  high  coif- 
fured  hair  and  the  heaving  bosom. 

She  felt  so  weary  as  she  loitered  on  the  gal- 
v  305 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

lery  after  the  negro  had  taken  his  departure  as 
stealthily  as  he  had  come.  She  turned  at  last 
and  crossed  the  gallery  to  the  hall  beyond.  There 
was  a  rustling  of  silk  as  d'Artin  and  the  impos- 
ing madame  came  forward  to  meet  her. 

"  Oh,  Jeanne!"  cried  the  latter.  "  Antoine  tells 
me  that  Captain  Laville  has  been  arrested.  What 
a  pity! — such  a  pleasant  gentleman!" 

"Arrested?"  repeated  Jeanne. 

"As  becomes  a  traitor/'  cried  d'Artin,  savagely. 

"  Captain  Laville  is  no  traitor.  He  is  an  hon- 
est gentleman,  the  noblest  man  in  the  colony," 
retorted  Jeanne,  undaunted. 

"He  is  an  enemy  to  the  king,"  answered  d'Ar- 
tin, without  looking  at  her. 

She  laughed  imperiously. 

D'Artin  shifted  uncomfortably,  raging  inward- 
ly at  her  folly.  "  Perier  means  to  despatch  a  ves- 
sel to  France  to-morrow  with  an  account  of  the 
horrible  butchery,  and  demanding  soldiers  and 
supplies.  Laville  will  be  examined  immediately 
and  perchance  sent  to  France  with  the  ship." 

She  shrank  back  against  the  wall  with  a 
muffled  cry  and  turned  with  outstretched  hands 
towards  d'Artin.  "What  fiend's  work  is  this? 
He  is  innocent,  and  you  know  it.  It  is  his  ene- 
mies who  plot  his  ruin.  Oh,  Cousin  Antoine! 
you  will  not  allow  this  outrage." 

There  was  a  feverish  crimson  in  her  cheeks 
and  a  delirious  brilliancy  in  her  eyes. 

306 


MARCELLO     INTERCEDES 

"Oh,  if  I  were  only  a  man — a  man!"  she  cried, 
"  I  would  not  stand  by  and  see  the  innocent  suf- 
fer. You  know  it  is  false — false!" 

"  Shame  upon  you,  Jeanne.  How  can  you  de- 
fend that  man?  I  should  think  that  the  shrieks 
and  groans  of  those  murdered  soldiers  and  im- 
prisoned women  and  children  would  echo  in  your 
ears  forever.  Do  you  realize  the  danger  that 
threatens  us?  Fortifications  have  been  begun 
around  New  Orleans ;  a  moat  is  being  sunk ;  the 
intrenching  tools  and  artillery  are  now  in  the 
rue  St.  Peter,  and  all  our  men  are  armed  to  the 
teeth.  To-night,  as  you  dance,  your  gallants 
will  each  be  armed  under  their  silken  doublets. 
This  very  ball  is  only  a  pretext  to  disguise  the 
grave  anxiety  of  the  colonial  officials." 

Jeanne's  face  moved  in  the  shadow,  but  the 
white  moonlight  touched  her  bare  shoulders  and 
satin  skirts. 

Her  eyes  flashed  at  d'Artin  incredulously. 
She  only  thought  of  Laville — his  danger,  his 
sacrifice.  Without  a  word  she  challenged  d'Artin 
with  a  glance  of  mingled  scorn  and  pride,  and 
stepped  into  the  broad  moonlight.  She  pressed 
her  hands  to  her  bosom.  The  packet — it  was 
there. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
THE    PACKET 

THE  Sieur  de  Glaucos  advanced  to  meet  Jeanne 
with  a  low  bow.  His  military  appearance  was 
splendid,  though  severe.  He  wore  brown  flow- 
ered velvet  breeches,  and  his  coat  was  lace  with 
gold;  a  gold  stuff  waistcoat  flowered  in  white, 
with  the  finest  Mechlin  lace  in  the  bosom  of  his 
shirt  and  at  the  wrists  of  his  sleeves.  Gold- 
clocked  were  his  hose,  and  red  the  heels  of  his 
low,  diamond-buckled  shoes.  His  wig  was  curled 
and  tied  with  ribbon.  The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  had 
not  been  much  of  a  dancing  man,  but  he  certain- 
ly was  an  old  beau  who  liked  to  dress  handsomely. 
Jeanne  glanced  up  at  him  in  admiration,  and 
then  her  eyes  wandered  across  the  ballroom, 
dazed  by  the  magnificence  of  color,  the  sol- 
diers' uniforms  contrasting  sharply  with  the 
splendor  of  the  ladies'  gay  gowns.  The  slow, 
smooth  dance  of  the  minuet,  with  its  graceful 
postures,  tempted  the  gallants  to  lead  with  meas- 
ured steps  their  fair  partners  up  and  down  the 
big,  bare  room,  which  was  hung  with  greenery 
and  boughs  of  mistletoe. 


THE    PACKET 

"It  is  my  minuet.  Shall  we  dance  it  ma- 
dame?" 

"As  you  please." 

Jeanne  raised  her  eyes  to  the  Sieur  de  Glau- 
cos  and  took  his  arm.  The  rhythmic  music 
and  the  dance,  slow,  stately,  with  graceful  atti 
tudes,  went  on,  and  they  passed  down  the  ball- 
room, swaying,  changing,  in  the  postures  of  the 
minuet.  The  air  was  freighted  with  the  music 
of  soft  laughter  and  the  hum  and  stir  of  low  voices. 
Jeanne  fought  bravely  against  the  bitterness  and 
despair  at  her  heart.  She  had  need  of  courage, 
of  self-possession;  there  was  work  for  her  to  do. 
The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  was  a  power  in  the  colony. 
If  his  voice  were  heard  in  Laville's  cause,  he 
might  be  able  to  save  him.  She  trembled  in- 
wardly, but  her  eyes  smiled  beneath  their  dark 
fringes.  She  talked  rapidly,  in  a  tone  of  seri- 
ous banter,  with  a  touch  of  playfulness  that 
fascinated  the  old  soldier. 

"New  Orleans  will  always  be  beautiful  and 
dreamy  to  me/'  she  said  once.  "Even  when  I 
am  back  in  France  I  shall  remember  this  time 
and  the  picturesque  grace  of  these  men  and 
women/' 

"  Not  one  of  whom,  madame,  bears  a  prouder 
or  more  commanding  presence  than  thine." 

Her  satin  swept  the  floor,  and  louder  strains 
of  the  music  broke  in  upon  their  conversation,  as 
Jeanne,  smiling  with  coquetry,  clasped  his  hand 

309 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

in  the  graceful  attitudes  of  the  dance.  When  it 
was  over,  and  the  current  of  gladsome  life  surged 
like  a  glittering  river,  they  strolled  out  on  the 
gallery  and  sat  in  a  recess  near  the  door.  It  was 
a  cool  evening,  and  Jeanne  put  her  cloak  over 
her  shoulders,  trembling  under  the  soft  folds  in 
the  moonlight.  Her  brain  was  in  a  perfect  whirl. 
All  the  evening  she  had  laughed  and  danced  and 
smiled  upon  the  throng  in  the  ballroom,  capti- 
vating all  hearts  by  her  wit  and  mirth.  Her  eyes 
were  bright,  her  tongue  keen,  her  unnaturally 
scarlet  lips  curved  with  smiles,  and  her  spirit 
brave  and  gay. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  pondered  over  the  elu- 
sive character  of  the  woman  beside  him.  He  felt 
the  magnetism  of  her  presence,  and  gazed  at  her 
with  inquiring  eyes.  There  was  a  tired  droop 
to  the  pensive  mouth,  he  noticed,  and  once  he 
caught  her  serious  eyes  regarding  him  with 
wistful  anxiety,  which  seemed  to  contradict 
strangely  her  gayety  and  abandon. 

"Thine  is  a  strange  nature,  my  little  lady," 
he  ventured. 

"Indeed— why?" 

"Because  of  its  sudden  transitions." 

"Am  I  so  variable?" 

"  As  much  so  as  the  breeze  that  stirs  our  oaks." 

"Is  there  not  a  charm  in  variety?"  She 
laughed  softly. 

"The  world  has  told  you  that  truth,  madame. 
310 


THE    PACKET 

None  should  know  it  so  well  as  you.  We  like 
the  first  changeful  spring  days,  but  oftentimes 
there  follows  a  storm." 

"Ah!"  The  exclamation  broke  from  her  in 
sudden  fear. 

"Madame  Poche,  Lady  Jeanne,"  he  said,  ab- 
ruptly, "you  need  a  friend  now,  not  a  courtier. 
I  am  old  enough  to  be  your  father.  Will  you 
forgive  my  rudeness  if  I  talk  to  you  frankly?" 

A  slight  gust  of  wind  blew  across  the  gallery 
and  through  the  ballroom.  The  lights  flecked 
and  scintillated  over  Jeanne's  gay  dress  and 
made  her  girdle,  set  with  Bristol  stones,  blaze 
like  a  thousand  lights.  She  never  looked  more 
beautiful  and  alluring  than  on  that  night. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  this  honor?"  he  urged. 

"That  would  be  an  honor  to  confer,"  she  said, 
softly. 

Jeanne  suddenly  felt  very  cold.  The  lights 
flashed  over  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos's  face,  and  she 
saw  the  sombre  earnestness  of  his  rugged  feat- 
ures. His  eyes  sought  hers  in  the  starlight.  The 
lilting  music  of  the  dance  went  merrily  on. 

"Madame  Poche  —  my  little  Jeanne,  for  you 
are  scarcely  more  than  a  child  to  me — I  came  to 
you  first,  not  so  long  ago,  on  a  serious  matter  as 
a  representative  of  the  state.  Now  I  approach 
you  as  a  friend.  I  think  you  need  me." 

Jeanne  looked  straight  out  from  under  her  level 
brows.  She  was  silent,  while  her  right  hand  ner- 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

vously  fingered  the  rose  at  her  bosom.  She  mark- 
ed the  trouble  in  his  voice,  and,  leaning  back  in 
her  chair,  looked  up  at  him  piteously. 

"I  have  no  desire  to  know  your  secrets,"  he 
said,  distraught.  "  What  hapless  errand  brought 
you  to  these  alien  shores,  madame?  Be  frank, 
and  show  me  in  what  way  I  can  serve  you  best." 

She  locked  her  hands  tightly  under  the  pro- 
tection of  her  cloak.  She  sat  silently  looking  at 
him,  with  unshed  tears  in  her  eyes,  though  in 
her  heart  there  was  a  dumb  cry. 

"I  am  not  bold  enough  to  tell  you  what  is  be- 
ing said  of  you  in  New  Orleans/'  continued  the 
Sieur  de  Glaucos.  "Your  beauty  and  wit  have 
given  you  power,  but  you  cannot  escape  the 
tongue  of  folly  and  envy.  The  flattering  voices 
are  also  the  jeering  ones." 

He  paused. 

"What — what  do  you  mean?" 

"Calumny,"  he  repeated,  fearlessly.  "It  is 
generally  the  fate  of  an  attractive  woman  when 
her  generosity  leads  her  to  defy  the  conventions. 
Actuality  is  warped  by  doubt,  and  seeming  be- 
comes sinning." 

The  folded  hands  tightened  in  her  satin 
lap. 

"The  cruelty  of  the  world  to  a  woman!"  she 
murmured,  with  an  involuntary  sigh.  "It  is  the 
abiding  phantom  of  our  sex." 

"But  he  is  not  worth  it,  dear  lady  Jeanne. 
312 


THE    PACKET 

There  is  no  man  among  us  worthy  of  such  a 
sacrifice." 

She  started  violently  and  rose  feebly  to  her 
feet. 

"You  are  not  offended,  madame?"  He  rose 
also,  his  bearded  face  shadowed  by  a  grave  con- 
sideration. "  The  occasion,  believe  me,  demands 
plain  speech.  I  fain  would  be  honest,  yet  I  fear 
to  seem  rude." 

"Oh  no,  no!  I  do  not  think  of  that,"  she 
cried,  with  sudden  passion.  "What  do  such 
trifling  considerations  matter  now?  It  has  come 
— the  end  of  all  things  for  me."  She  drew  near- 
er and  caught  him  by  the  arm.  "  I  am  so  miser- 
able, Sieur  de  Glaucos — so  crazed — I  know  not 
where  to  turn.  I  am  beaten  and  hounded  on 
every  side.  I  have  withheld  the  king's  mes- 
sage— oh  yes,  I  must  tell  you  now — I  have  de- 
fied my  husband,  and  —  and  —  now  —  there  is 
nothing  left  but  a  sacrifice  more  bitter  than 
death." 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  turned  pale,  and  the  lines 
about  his  stern  old  mouth  grew  deeper. 

"My  lady  Jeanne,"  he  said,  calmly,  taking 
one  of  her  small  hands  in  one  of  his  brown  palms, 
"tell  me  how  I  can  serve  you.  I  have  been  a 
faithful  soldier;  I  can  also  be  a  loyal  friend." 

"Oh,  Sieur  de  Glaucos!  you  asked  for  the 
packet  from  the  king."  Her  voice  sank  almost 
to  a  whisper.  "You — you — have  been  robbed 

313 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

all  this  time,  and  now — now — it  is  for  my  hus- 
band I  must  give  it  up.  He  bids  me  give  it  to 
him — to  him,"  she  wailed. 

"And  you  have  it?"  His  grasp  on  her  hand 
tightened. 

"Yes,  yes — and  can't  you  see?  I  must  be 
loyal  to  my  husband — I  must  give  it  up — but, 
oh,  there  is  another — dearer  than  life — dearer 
than  my  soul's  salvation — what  of  him — what 
of  him,  Sieur  de  Glaucos?"  She  almost  wept 
in  the  tensity  of  the  moment,  and  snatched  her 
hand  from  his  grasp. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  stared  at  her  in  awed 
silence,  vaguely  realizing  the  deep  despair  of 
her  soul.  For  a  few  moments  neither  spoke, 
and  then  the  old  man  said,  with  compressed 
lips: 

"You  must  give  me  the  despatch.  Your  first 
duty  is  to  the  king." 

"But  my  husband — I  must  be  loyal."  Jeanne 
made  a  quick  gesture  of  despair  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

"  You  must  give  up  the  despatch  at  once.  Trust 
to  me.  The  king's  mandates  must  be  obeyed. 
That  is  pre-eminent.  To  whom  is  the  message 
addressed?" 

"You,  you,"  said  Jeanne,  looking  up  and  ner- 
vously crumpling  the  folds  of  her  dress.  "  It  has 
your  name  on  it — you  will  act  according  to  the 
king's  order,  but  if  it  mean  death  to  him,  Sieur 

314 


THE     PACKET 

de  Glaucos,  what  then?"  She  stood  facing  him 
with  wild  eyes. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  folded  his  palms  tightly 
together. 

"Nevertheless,  you  must  give  me  the  packet/' 
he  replied,  gravely.  "I  cannot  make  promises. 
Give  me  the  packet,  madame.  I  insist." 

" Sieur_de_ Glaucos/'  Jeanne  choked,  "you  are 
robbing  me  of  all  peace."  She  slowly  took  the 
packet  from  its  hiding-place  without  looking  in 
his  face.  "There — there  it  is."  She  spoke  the 
words  faintly  and  dully,  as  if  uttering  them  over 
the  dead.  "I  have  been  honest  with  you;  be 
merciful  to  me."  For  an  instant  a  bitter  yearn- 
ing shone  in  her  eyes.  "  Do  your  duty,  Sieur  de 
Glaucos.  The  king  is  first;  you  are  right — oh, 
you  are  right,  old  friend." 

He  bent  over  her  hand  for  a  moment  with  tears 
in  his  eyes. 

"You  are  a  brave  little  woman,  and  you  have 
a  friend  in  me." 

She  seized  his  hand  and  pressed  it  convul- 
sively between  her  warm  palms.  The  next  in- 
stant she  shook  her  head  at  him  in  a  friendly 
way  and  clasped  her  hands  behind  her,  gently 
swaying  to  the  time  of  the  music,  her  young 
blood  seeming  suddenly  to  respond  to  the  meas- 
ure of  the  old,  sweet  tune.  She  was  suddenly 
transfigured,  this  baffling  woman  of  many  moods. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  was  stupefied  with  won- 
315 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

der.  Could  it  be  possible  that  this  radiant  fig- 
ure was  the  trembling,  passionate  woman  of  a 
moment  before? 

Jeanne  saw  his  wondering  look  and  turned 
pale,  but  held  her  head  erect  and  smiled  enig- 
matically. 

"Come,"  she  said,  bewitchingly,  "I  want  to 
dance.  Give  me  your  arm."  She  threw  her 
cloak  over  the  back  of  a  chair  and  glided  by 
his  side  through  the  mirthful  crowd  of  flutter- 
ing, swaying  dancers  with  proud  mien  and 
breaking  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
THE     TOAST 

THE  dance  came  swiftly  to  an  end,  the  cadence 
of  the  music  lingering  in  the  air  as  it  vi- 
brated into  silence.  At  the  close  of  the  dance 
the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  led  Jeanne  to  the  supper- 
room,  where  they  found  Rossart  standing  over 
an  immense  punch -bowl  wreathed  with  leaves 
and  filled  with  a  spicy,  amber-colored  liquid. 

"Madame  Poche  is  warm/'  said  the  Sieur  de 
Glaucos  to  Rossart.  "Will  you  serve  her?" 

Rossart  glanced  around  quickly,  then  filled  a 
goblet  with  the  sparkling  fluid.  An  ominous 
flash  in  his  eyes  told  Jeanne  that  he  had  not 
forgotten  their  long  feud,  but  he  smilingly 
spoke  as  he  handed  her  the  goblet. 

"Madame  is  welcome/' 

She  raised  the  cup  and  held  it  high,  with  her 
white  teeth  flashing  as  her  lips  parted  with  a  smile. 

"A  toast/'  she  cried,  gayly,  to  hide  her  con- 
fusion. "Let  us  drink  to  all  that  is  good  and 
true  in  Louisiana." 

Rossart  quickly  raised  his  goblet,  keeping  his 
eyes  daringly  fixed  on  Jeanne. 

317 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"Drink  a  toast  with  me,"  he  repeated,  with 
smiling  insolence.  "To  the  king,  and  death  to 
all  traitors.  Drink  to  the  arch-traitor,  and  to- 
morrow's ship  that  sails  with  him." 

He  laughed  in  harsh  glee,  and,  flashing  a 
meaning  glance  at  Jeanne,  put  the  cup  to  his  lips. 

Instantly  Jeanne  sent  her  goblet  to  the  floor 
with  a  loud  clattering,  the  amber  liquor  stain- 
ing her  gown  and  satin  slippers.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  her  warm 
blushes  contrasting  vividly  with  her  cool  self- 
possession. 

"Another  goblet  of  wine,  my  lord." 

The  lids  of  her  eyes  curved  proudly  and  the 
diamond  fireflies  on  her  bosom  quivered  as  if 
alive.  She  looked  at  Rossart  without  flinching. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  filled  another  goblet  and 
gallantly  passed  it  to  her,  his  brave,  honest  eyes 
fixed  on  her  face  with  anxious  trepidation. 

"  Another  toast,  gentlemen.  Drink  with  me  to 
the  consummation  of  our  cherished  dreams.  Each 
one  knows  his  own." 

She  quaffed  the  wine  and  set  the  goblet  down. 

"And  now,  gentlemen,  what  is  this  about  the 
ship  that  sails  on  the  morrow?" 

There  was  no  trace  of  agitation  in  her  face. 
She  glanced  at  the  two  men  with  unfaltering 
eyes,  and  her  voice  rang  with  its  old,  exulting 
melody.  Rossart  watched  her,  troubled  and  in- 
credulous. The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  turned  ab- 


THE    TOAST 

ruptly;  his  stiff  mouth  twitched  nervously  and 
the  perspiration  was  standing  on  his  forehead 
in  beads.  He  avoided  Jeanne's  eyes,  and  spoke 
with  a  constrained  smile  on  his  lips. 

"  There  is  to  be  a  court  in  session  at  midnight 
in  the  other  wing  of  this  building.  The  gov- 
ernor gives  Captain  Laville  a  hearing.  If  the 
evidence  convicts  him  of  being  an  accessory  to 
the  Rosalie  massacre,  he  sails  for  France  to- 
morrow/' 

"Truly  the  times  call  for  prompt  and  decisive 
action,"  Jeanne  answered,  simply.  "Captain 
Laville  is  a  man  of  honor,  and  it  is  well  that  his 
name  should  be  cleared  of  this  base  accusation 
without  delay." 

She  looked  up  at  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  with 
candid  eyes,  simulating  an  unconcern  and  as- 
surance she  was  far  from  feeling.  Her  heart 
beat  rapidly,  and  a  chill  swept  over  her. 

"Come,  Sieur  de  Glaucos,"  she  said,  lightly, 
"  I  have  much  patience,  but,  certes !  I  cannot  stand 
here  longer  gossiping  with  you  gentlemen." 

She  swept  Rossart  a  stately  courtesy  without 
looking  at  him,  and,  taking  the  Sieur  de  Glau- 
cos's  arm,  moved  towards  the  ballroom  with  a 
serene  and  smiling  face.  The  color  was  still  in 
her  cheeks,  and  she  pressed  the  rose  close  to  her 
bosom.  The  fragrance  of  the  crushed  flower 
was  faintly  sweet,  and  when  she  lifted  her  hand, 
swiftly  falling  one  by  one,  the  petals  fell  apart. 

319 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"I  must  be  present  at  Captain  Laville's  trial, 
Sieur  de  Glaucos,"  she  said,  the  moment  they 
were  alone.  "  I  have  some  evidence  to  offer  which 
may  be  necessary.  I  know  Captain  Laville  to  be 
innocent  of  this  crime." 

She  broke  off  and  turned  her  face  from  him. 

They  paused  and  stood  under  a  big  archway 
garlanded  with  mistletoe  and  late  roses.  Close 
beside  them,  against  the  wall,  an  old  ebony  clock 
ticked  the  precious  minutes  away.  Like  some 
evil  prognostication,  there  sounded  the  warning 
whir  of  the  fatal  hour  about  to  strike. 

"Oh,  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  the  clock  is  about  to 
strike  the  hour.  You  said  he  would  be  tried  at 
midnight.  Yonder  goes  Monsieur  Rossart  and 
the  governor." 

One — the  old  clock  began  its  slow  record  of  the 
passing  hour. 

Two. 

Her  eyes  met  his,  affrighted.  "It  begins  to 
strike.  I  wonder  what  they  will  do  there,  in 
that  chamber  of  justice." 

Three. 

The  moon  was  at  its  full.  The  broad  rays 
came  in  at  the  rear  window  and  lay  on  the  floor 
in  front  of  the  clock. 

"Think,  my  friend.  Perchance  in  there  they 
will  sign  away  a  life — an  innocent  life." 

Four. 

She  stepped  close  to  the  clock  and  looked  up 
320 


THE    TOAST 

at  its  face  in  solemn  sadness.  "How  you  mark 
time  for  us,  sometimes  slowly,  sometimes  swiftly, 
from  our  cradle  to  the  grave — " 

Five. 

"He  is  slipping  away  from  me."  She  half 
muttered  the  words  through  dry  lips,  and  then 
burst  out  passionately:  "I  tell  you,  I  must  save 
Captain  Laville." 

Six. 

"Oh,  my  friend,  he  is  a  brave  gentleman. 
Louisiana  has  need  of  him."' 

Seven. 

The  candle-light  fell  dimly  on  the  rugged  feat- 
ures of  the  old  soldier  and  on  the  woman's  piteous 
face  appealing  to  him  with  all  her  woman's  soul. 

Eight. 

"If  he  should  be  condemned  because  I  do  not 
speak,  I  could  not  live.  The  hour  of  despair  is 
friendship's  test." 

Nine. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  like  a  hunted  animal  to 
the  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  but  her  tongue  clove  to 
her  dry  mouth  and  refused  to  form  a  sound. 

Ten  .  .  .  Eleven  .  .  .  Twelve. 

She  turned  to  him  with  pathetic  anxiety  and 
grasped  his  arm.  "Ask  his  excellency  to  admit 
Madame  Poche  as  a  witness.  He  will  listen  to 
me.  Every  moment  counts.  We  may  be  too 
late.  See — I  wrill  go  down  on  my  knees  to  you 
— I  implore  you — " 

x  321 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

The  pleading  face  was  very  near  his  shoul- 
der. A  great  tenderness  came  into  his  old  sear- 
ed face;  his  eyes  grew  dim  with  moisture.  A 
sudden  flash  of  memory  came  to  him — a  swift 
vision  of  the  time  when  he  was  young  and  he 
had  loved.  His  voice  was  very  gentle  when  he 
spoke. 

"  Laville  is  a  brave  man,  but — you  cannot  help 
him,  believe  me." 

The  music  seemed  to  float  around  them  in  mel- 
ancholy waves.  Jeanne  staggered  against  the 
wall,  with  white,  set  face.  What  was  life  to  her 
if  Laville  were  lost? 

"But  I  can — and  I  will  save  him." 

She  clasped  her  hands  desperately. 

"What  if  I  have  to  sacrifice  myself  for  him? 
It  is  the  life  of  the  man  I  love  that  is  at  stake. 
Oh,  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  I  am  not  proud  now — I 
care  not  what  the  world  thinks — I  love  Captain 
Laville — and  what  is  dishonor  to  me  if  I  save 
his  life—" 

And  the  ancient  clock  encased  in  ebony,  with 
its  battered  face  grinning  through  its  worn  hands, 
continued  its  tale  of  the  hours,  peacefully  set- 
tling to  the  monotonous  round  of  a  new  day,  as 
if  relieved  of  the  burden  of  the  old : 

Tick-lock!  .      ,   Tick-lock!  .      .  Tick-took! 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
THE   TRIAL 

THE  members  of  the  hurriedly  assembled  tri- 
bunal in   that  room  of  justice  consisted  of 
Governor  P£rier,  de  la  Chaise,  the  king's  emis- 
sary, and  Messieurs  d'Artin,  Rossart,  Dartaguelle, 
and  a  few  others  in  high  authority. 

The  stately  dance  music  penetrated  through 
the  closed  doors,  falling  upon  the  hushed  atmos- 
phere like  a  requiem — now  swelling  to  a  crescen- 
do, now  sinking  into  a  minor  cadence,  throbbing 
through  the  tense  silence.  Candle-flies,  attracted 
by  the  hazy  luminosity  of  the  room,  flew  in  at 
the  open  windows,  and  beat  their  little  lives  out 
against  the  flames. 

Most  of  the  faces  of  the  men  assembled  wore  a 
gloomy  expression  of  settled  conviction.  The 
menacing  shadow  of  death  from  which  there 
seemed  no  escape  forced  Laville  to  a  realization 
of  his  situation.  He  felt  himself  drifting  on  a 
stream  that  carried  him  to  the  whirlpool  of  his 
fate,  and  there  was  no  help  for  him.  It  had 
been  a  cruel  ordeal.  One  little  word  would  save 
him.  Ah!  those  days  seemed  so  far  off  now, 

323 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

when  life  had  brought  him  a  new  and  marvel- 
lous gladness.  He  knew  that  his  conviction 
was  the  work  of  his  enemies,  and  though  Perier 
might  have  shown  mercy  had  he  dared,  the 
evidence  was  such  as  to  prove  him  a  traitor. 
When  he  was  asked  if  he  had  any  defence  to 
make,  he  drew  himself  up  proudly  and  answer- 
ed in  a  firm  voice,  "None."  His  soul  quivered 
under  the  lash  of  this  reproach — he  whose  word 
had  always  been  a  guarantee  of  good  faith. 

From  time  to  time,  as  he  stood  there  confront- 
ing his  judges,  he  thought  of  Jeanne  with  wild 
rapture  and  pain.  Why  had  she  deceived  him? 
Did  she  really  love  Rossart?  He  could  not  be- 
lieve it  now,  and  yet  she  had  been  there  at  his 
house  with  the  man. 

Rossart  was  smiling,  cold  and  cynical,  but 
careful  to  avoid  Laville's  gaze.  Laville  had 
spoken  the  truth  when  he  denied  utterly  any 
knowledge  of  the  Rosalie  massacre.  But  the 
evidence  gathered  through  the  assiduity  of  the 
chief  of  police  was  fatally  against  him. 

Rossart  flushed  with  the  assurance  of  suc- 
cess. Laville  would  keep  silent  to  save  her. 
They  would  not  know  he  was  in  the  settlement 
that  night.  No  one  else  knew  except  Marcello, 
and  his  testimony  was  worthless. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  entered  suddenly,  and, 
taking  the  governor  aside,  conferred  with  him 
earnestly. 

324 


THE    TRIAL 

Laville  could  see  their  faces.  He  saw  the  un- 
expected flash  of  hope  that  lighted  up  the  gov- 
ernor's countenance  and  the  grave  anxiety  in  the 
Sieur  de  Glaucos's  eyes.  This  unforeseen  sus- 
pension of  the  proceedings  somewhat  revived  his 
hopes  in  a  vague  way.  Hope  lightened  his  heart 
and  recalled  Jeanne.  His  thoughts  wandered  at 
random,  buoyant,  happy,  for  a  brief  space,  thrill- 
ed with  joyous  remembrances. 

Suddenly  he  was  brought  back  to  the  present 
by  an  abrupt  movement  near  the  door.  Rossart 
was  there,  speaking  rapidly  and  admonishing  the 
Sieur  de  Glaucos  and  the  governor  by  word 
and  gesture.  His  features  were  imperative,  and 
for  the  first  time  since  he  had  entered  the  room 
he  cast  a  glance  at  Laville.  A  pause,  more  whis- 
pers, and  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  went  out.  Then 
a  prolonged  silence,  during  which  Laville's  heart 
throbbed  curiously.  Was  there  no  means  of  rid- 
ding himself  of  his  enemies?  He  had  the  nat- 
ural rights  of  a  man  to  live — he  would  make  his 
way — he  would  show  them  he  was  master  of  his 
destiny —  What  was  happening?  A  movement 
at  the  door,  the  gentle  frou-frou  of  silken  skirts, 
a  faint,  sweet  violet  odor,  and  the  governor  rose 
and  bowed  as  Jeanne  stepped  into  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  her  slave  woman  Celie. 

For  a  few  minutes  there  was  a  dead  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  sobbing  violin  voices  as 
the  wail  of  the  music  came  faintly  through 

325 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

the  walls,  rising  and  falling  in  measure  to  the 
dance. 

Jeanne  advanced  a  few  steps,  bowed  profoundly 
to  the  governor,  and  made  a  slight  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  presence  of  the  others,  every  one  of 
whom  she  knew  well.  Then  she  slowly  raised 
her  head,  and  all  the  loveliness  of  her  face  con- 
fronted the  awe-struck  group  of  men.  The  Sieur 
de  Glaucos  moved  close  to  her  side,  his  half- 
averted  face  more  eloquent  in  its  gloom  than 
even  in  its  grace. 

Laville  stifled  an  exclamation  of  alarm,  as  if 
some  one  had  dealt  him  a  mortal  wound.  He 
gazed  at  Jeanne  in  glad  surprise,  only  to  be 
shadowed  by  a  breathless,  numbing  horror, 
which  seemed  to  kill  the  light  in  his  eyes  and 
freeze  his  very  blood.  Why  had  she  come  there? 
A  hopeless  despair  seized  him,  for  all  at  once  he 
had  a  presentiment  of  what  would  happen.  The 
sublime  in  Jeanne,  speaking  through  the  elo- 
quence of  her  eyes,  told  him  that  she  was  equal 
to  any  sacrifice.  Surely  he  had  wronged  her. 
Would  she  tell  them  that  she  knew  he  was  in  the 
settlement  that  night?  Yet  how  prove  it?  Did 
she  not  love  Rossart?  She  must  not  think  of 
him.  Oh,  the  irony  of  fate!  But  she  must  not 
speak.  He  looked  at  her  steadfastly,  to  stay  her, 
if  possible,  by  a  look,  but  her  glance,  transient  as 
a  moonbeam,  met  his  only  for  one  furtive  instant. 

His  senses  seemed  to  swim.  What  was  it  he 
326 


THE    TRIAL 

saw  in  her  eyes? — for  love  shone  out  through  the 
misty  haze  of  her  despair  like  a  fleeting  vision. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  grim  old  war-horse  as 
he  was,  could  not  stand  the  strain  any  longer, 
and  left  the  room  precipitately.  Jeanne  advanced 
to  the  governor,  trailing  her  silks  and  splendid 
laces  behind  her,  passing  among  the  men  like 
a  queen.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  and  she  stood 
erect.  The  wan,  sickly  candle-light  fell  from  over- 
head and  lit  up  the  passionate  eagerness  in  her 
colorless  face.  She  turned  to  Governor  Perier 
and  waited  for  him  to  speak. 

"The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  tells  me,  Madame  Po- 
che,  that  you  have  testimony  to  offer  on  behalf 
of  Captain  Laville?" 

A  leaping  flash  of  anger  darted  from  Laville's 
eyes.  Jeanne  held  her  head  high,  and  her  voice 
was  clear  and  distinct. 

"Yes,  your  excellency." 

The  circle  of  men  stirred  and  looked  about. 
Rossart  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  his  eyes  gleam- 
ed ferociously. 

"You  know  Captain  Laville,  madame?" 

"Very  well." 

Rossart  frowned.  Laville  trembled.  An  appall- 
ing sense  of  remorse  smote  him.  He  knew  she 
had  ever  been  truthful  to  recklessness.  He  fear- 
ed she  would  be  so  to  the  end — the  royal  woman 
— the  great  soul!  And  he  had  misjudged  her. 
Oh,  if  he  could  stay  her!  But  she  was  not  look- 

327 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

ing  at  him.  Her  hands  were  tightly  clasped,  and 
she  was  watching  the  governor. 

Several  of  the  men  leaned  forward.  Her  mo- 
bile face  grew  tragic  under  the  curious  scrutiny. 
The  dance  tune,  so  gay,  so  wildly  rapturous, 
came  through  the  momentary  silence. 

"What  do  you  know  about  this  case?"  The 
governor's  voice  was  constrained,  as  though  the 
words  came  unwillingly. 

Laville's  face  grew  haggard  with  intense  ag- 
ony. He  rose  from  his  seat  and  faced  her  with 
burning  eyes,  but  she  kept  her  face  turned  tow- 
ards the  governor. 

"Nothing,  nothing/'  cried  Laville,  in  a  deep 
voice,  answering  the  governor.  "Governor  Pe- 
rier — gentlemen — this  lady  is  laboring  under 
some  delusion.  She  can  know  absolutely  noth- 
ing of  this  affair.  I  beg  you  to  have  her  ex- 
cused." 

The  rose  dropped  from  Jeanne's  bosom.  La- 
ville could  not  see  her  eyes,  but  beneath  the  lace, 
where  the  rose  had  been,  he  saw  her  breath  come 
and  go  convulsively. 

"I  do  know,  your  excellency,"  she  said,  firm- 
ly, her  eyes  kindling  with  sacrificial  fire. 

The  men  about  her  drew  their  breath  heavily, 
and  some  sprang  to  their  feet — all  the  gallantry, 
all  the  chivalry,  in  their  nature  aroused  by  this 
woman's  determination. 

Jeanne  continued:  "I  know  very  well,  be- 
328 


THE    TRIAL 

yond  all  doubting,  that  Captain  Laville  did  not 
assist  the  Indians  at  Fort  Rosalie.  He  could 
not  have  done  so,  gentlemen.  He  was  not  there/' 

"Ah!" 

Every  man  in  the  room  was  surprised  into 
exclamation.  All  eyes  were  turned  to  her — so 
proud,  so  calm,  so  majestic! 

Laville's  eyes  grew  absolutely  fierce,  and  an 
ashen  grayness  overspread  his  face. 

"Do  you  know  where  Captain  Laville  was  on 
the  night  of  November  twenty  -  eighth?"  ques- 
tioned the  governor. 

Rossart  eagerly  leaned  forward,  and  his  spirits 
rose  within  him  at  her  imminent  downfall. 
He  made  a  gesture  of  appeal  with  his  hands. 
She  did  not  see  him,  so  he  took  a  rose  from  his 
breast,  and,  while  apparently  twisting  it  care- 
lessly in  his  ringers,  threw  it  deliberately  tow- 
ards her.  It  was  a  big,  thick  -  stemmed  red  rose, 
with  a  heavy  head,  strong  petalled  and  sensu- 
ous smelling.  It  hit  her  squarely  on  her  snowy 
bosom,  bringing  a  crimson  flush  to  the  fair 
skin,  like  a  sinister  blood  stain.  When  she 
looked  up,  dazed  by  the  act,  he  covertly  held 
his  outstretched  hands  towards  her,  smiling 
cynically. 

For  a  moment  after  the  flower  struck  her 
Jeanne  was  transfixed  with  fear.  She  won- 
dered for  one  appalling  secorra  if  Laville  had 
seen  whence  it  came.  She  glanced  towards 

329 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

him  and  saw  the  sombre  countenance  fixed  on 
the  floor  in  deep  thought. 

Again  the  governor  questioned  her  kindly, 
with  extreme  gentleness. 

She  fixed  her  eyes  steadily  on  him,  and  htr 
voice,  though  clear,  sank  to  a  whisper.  "Yes, 
your  excellency,  I  do  know  that  Captain  Laville 
was  at  his  house  on  that  night — for — I  was  there 
with  him." 

She  held  herself  with  her  old,  bold  grace  for  an 
instant,  then  suddenly  she  swayed,  tottered,  and 
turned  ghastly  pale,  but  the  next  instant  she  re- 
covered herself  with  a  superhuman  effort  and 
stood  facing  that  crowd  of  gaping  men  in  all  the 
mockery  of  royal  robes  of  silver-brocade.  She 
did  not  hear  the  motion  of  those  about  her,  but 
stood  resolute  and  swaying,  gropingly  reaching 
out  her  hand  towards  her  slave  girl,  not  know- 
ing where  to  turn. 

The  woman  caught  her  mistress's  hands,  rub- 
bing and  chafing  them  between  her  own  slender, 
brown  palms.  D'Artin  immediately  followed 
Celie  to  Jeanne's  side.  His  face  was  terrible  to 
see,  but  he  stood  bravely  by  Jeanne,  with  his 
eyes  flashing  defiance. 

Dumb  with  excitement,  the  curious  men  gazed 
upon  the  little  group  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
The  stillness  was  intense;  only  the  everlasting 
music  wailed  through  the  hushed  air. 

Rossart  leaned  forward  and  strained  his  burn- 
330 


THE     TRIAL 

ing  eyes  until  they  ached.  He  did  not  notice 
Poche's  somewhat  unsteady  entrance;  he  was  too 
intent  on  the  scene  before  him.  His  lips  were  firm- 
ly set,  and  his  expression,  though  painfully  eager, 
was  altogether  triumphant.  A  kind  fate  had 
served  him.  Jeanne  was  disgraced,  and  by  her 
own  admission.  Oh,  his  way  was  growing  clear 
— she  would  come  to  him  at  last.  The  packet,  he 
was  certain,  would  recall  Laville — he  would  soon 
be  out  of  the  way.  That  brought  a  sudden  fear. 
Where  was  it?  What  had  Jeanne  done  with  it? 

His  self-complacency  was  abruptly  interrupted 
by  Laville's  penetrating  voice. 

"Governor  Perier — gentlemen,"  he  said,  ear- 
nestly, "I  beg  that  you  will  not  consider  this 
woman's  words.  In  trying  to  save  me,  she  is 
sacrificing  herself.  She  can  know  absolutely 
nothing  of  this  matter.  Two  hours  before  mid- 
night I  was  at  my  house,  it  is  true,  but  Madame 
Poche  was  not  there,  as  I — " 

Rossart  sprang  quickly  to  his  feet,  a  diaboli- 
cal smile  curving  his  lips.  "Gentlemen,"  he 
cried,  "your  excellency — pardon  me — Madame 
Poche  was  at  Captain  Laville's  house  on  that 
night.  But  I  swear  Laville  was  not  there.  It 
was  I  who  had  an  appointment  with  Madame 
Poche,  and  Laville's  house  was  the  rendezvous. 
This  letter  of  hers  will  testify  to  that.  Every- 
body knows  that  back  yonder  in  France,"  he 
smiled,  "I  was  madame's  suitor.  I  regret  this 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

step  for  madame's  sake,  but  in  a  crisis  like  this, 
when  so  much  is  at  stake  in  Louisiana,  all  per- 
sonal considerations  must  be  set  aside." 

He  walked  over  to  Perier  and  handed  the  note 
Jeanne  had  written  to  Laville. 

"Your  excellency,"  she  exclaimed,  "that  man 
lies." 

Laville  sprang  from  his  seat.  Jeanne's  letter! 
It  was  Rossart  then  who  had  stolen  it  from  Mar- 
cello.  In  a  flash  he  understood  all. 

"  Coward !     Liar ! "  he  roared. 

A  slight  trembling  shook  Jeanne's  frame.  At 
last — at  last — he  understood. 

Poche  had  been  drinking  heavily  all  the  even- 
ing; but  a  slow  light  began  gradually  to  dawn 
on  him.  They  were  all  wrong,  and  Rossart  was 
playing  a  treacherous  game.  He  had  been  to 
Laville's  house  himself  that  night,  and  he  had 
found  Laville  there  alone,  and  Jeanne  at  d'Artin's 
house  immediately  afterwards. 

"Stand  back,"  he  cried  to  Laville,  rushing  at 
Rossart  with  drawn  sword.  "This  is  my  quar- 
rel. I  know  this  man  lies.  Gentlemen,  Laville 
was  at  his  house  on  the  night  of  November  twen- 
ty-eighth. It  was  the  evening  I  arrived  in  New 
Orleans.  I  found  him  there  alone  about  two 
hours  before  midnight.  Rossart  was  not  there, 
and  my  wife  was  at  d'Artin's.  Curse  you! 
Draw  and  defend  yourself,  you  coward!  Par- 
dieu!  you  shall  answer  to  me."  He  trem- 

332 


THE     TRIAL 

bled  with  rage,  and  flew,  sword  in  hand,  at  Ros- 
sart,  who  met  him  with  cool  deliberation. 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen,"  cried  the  surround- 
ing group,  "you  forget  Madame  Poche  is  here." 

Jeanne  made  an  effort  to  get  between  them, 
but  was  stopped  by  d'Artin,  who  held  her  tight- 
ly in  his  arms,  while  she  struggled  for  breath. 

"Stop — stop  them,"  she  panted. 

There  was  a  clashing  of  steel  as  the  two  swords 
met.  Trembling,  terrified,  yet  fascinated  by  the 
sight,  Jeanne  stared  wildly  at  the  duellists. 

The  faint,  sickly  smell  of  dying  roses  was  on 
the  air,  and  the  violins  from  the  ballroom  wailed 
on.  The  two  men  fought  desperately.  Parry 
and  thrust — thrust  and  parry.  Like  lightning 
the  swords  flew  swiftly  through  the  air,  then  sud- 
denly Poche  made  a  false  lunge,  and,  with  a  wild 
cry,  Rossart  flew  at  him.  There  was  an  agoniz- 
ing cry,  a  few  muttered  imprecations,  and  Poche 
threw  up  his  hands .  His  sword  went  clanking  to 
the  floor;  he  staggered,  reeled  half-way  across  the 
room,  and  fell  lifeless  at  Jeanne's  feet. 

D'Artin's  arms  tightened  about  Jeanne's  trem- 
bling form,  and  before  either  could  move  or 
speak  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos  suddenly  burst  into 
the  room. 

His  eyes  quickly  took  in  the  situation — the 
amazed  group,  the  prostrate  figure,  and  Jeanne 
supported  by  d'Artin,  all  the  light  gone  out  of 
her  face. 

333 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  Sieur  de  Glaucos,  in  a 
hushed  voice,  "I  see  that  God,  in  His  mercy, 
has  forestalled  human  justice.  The  king's  mes- 
senger has  at  length  brought  the  despatch  from 
France  which  we  have  long  waited  for.  Among 
other  things,  it  orders  the  immediate  arrest  of 
Monsieur  Rossart  for  conspiring  against  the 
government,  and  Monsieur  Poche  for  complicity, 
while  in  France." 

Rossart  gave  vent  to  a  sarcastic  laugh.  "He 
who  plays  well  loses  well." 

Perier  lifted  his  head  and  gazed  with  indigna- 
tion at  Rossart,  then  turned  to  the  Sieur  de  Glau- 
cos and  the  others. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "there  may 
be  fair  days  dawning  for  Louisiana,  and  honors 
for  brave  men,  but  remember  we  are  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  dead.  There  will  be  but  one  pris- 
oner for  the  king  sailing  to  France  to-morrow. 
Captain  Laville,  you  have  been  falsely  accused 
of  a  heinous  crime,  of  which  you  are  now  de- 
clared innocent/' 

Jeanne,  as  she  heard  the  last  words,  uttered  a 
low,  exulting  cry  and  fell  back  into  d'Artin's 
arms. 

The  next  day,  Rossart,  under  arrest,  sailed  for 
France.  It  was  proved  conclusively  that,  under 
the  guise  of  loyalty,  he  had  conspired  against 
the  India  Company  and  France,  in  the  hope  of 

334 


THE    TRIAL 

advancing  himself  in  'the  colony  through  the 
Spanish  interests.  Whether  he  met  death  on 
the  scaffold  or  in  prison  history  does  not  say, 
but  he  was  never  heard  of  again  in  Louisiana. 

A  few  weeks  later  Jeanne,  accompanied  by  her 
cousins,  also  sailed  for  France. 


CHAPTER   XXX 
LOVE'S     VICTORY 

TWO  years  passed  away.     It  was  the  spring 
of  the  year. 

No  explanation  had  ever  passed  between 
Jeanne  and  Laville,  and  it  was  with  strange  ela- 
tion he  heard  that  she  was  returning  to  the  col- 
ony with  her  cousins.  Laville  never  spoke  of 
that  time  to  any  one.  He  felt  as  though  those 
chapters  in  his  life  could  never  be  opened.  They 
were  sacred  to  him,  though  possibly  forgotten  by 
her.  The  remembrance  would  come  to  him  how 
once  in  a  far-off,  dim  time,  though  it  seemed  but 
yesterday,  she  had  loved  him.  Her  face  would 
come  back  to  him  as  he  had  seen  it  last  at  the 
trial — passionate,  proud  and  intense,  with  all  the 
great  sorrow  of  a  noble  soul  in  it.  There  could 
be  no  mistake,  she  had  loved  him  then,  but  how 
had  these  two  years — years  of  bitter  struggle  and 
longing  on  his  part — affected  her?  He  had  tried 
to  think  of  her  as  outside  of  his  life,  as  one  he 
had  seen  in  a  sweet,  never-to-be-forgotten  dream. 
Various  rumors  had  reached  him  from  time  to 
time  of  her  conquests  at  the  court.  What  could 

336 


LOVE'S    VICTORY 

he  ever  be  to  her  again?  So  he  went  back  to  his 
duties  and  tried  to  forget. 

One  memorable  day  in  the  history  of  New  Or- 
leans Bienville  was  returned  as  governor  of  Loui- 
siana. It  was  a  season  of  general  rejoicing.  The 
church  bells  rang,  cannons  were  fired,  and  from 
far  and  near  the  people  congregated  at  the 
anchorage  to  welcome  back  the  faithful  old  com- 
mandant. 

It  was  April,  and  all  the  world  of  New  Orleans 
was  glad  with  laughter  and  gay  with  flowers. 
With  the  first  peep  of  the  sun  that  morning  the 
nuns  marshalled  the  children  under  their  charge, 
principally  those  orphans  surviving  the  Natchez 
massacre  of  St.  Andre,  and  they  had  gone  into 
the  gardens  and  gathered  millions  of  blossoms. 
They  were  early  at  the  landing,  and,  although 
the  Marine  Cadets  and  officers  of  infantry  were 
nearest  the  old  commandant  when  he  came 
ashore,  the  children  soon  had  right  of  way,  and 
literally  strewed  his  path  with  flowers. 

Long  before  the  vessel  reached  port  Laville  had 
espied  it  coming  up  the  river.  At  last  it  seemed 
as  if  part  of  his  hopes  were  to  be  realized.  After 
the  massacre  at  Fort  Rosalie  many  were  con- 
vinced that  Perier  was  not  capable  of  coping  with 
the  Indians,  and  the  governor  was  not  popular. 
Public  feeling  was  aroused,  and  the  friends  of 
the  ex-governor  at  last  persuaded  the  powers  in 
France  that  Louisiana's  survival  meant  Bien- 
»  337 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

vine's  return.  Possibly,  thought  Laville,  she 
who  was  over  there  in  France  would  know,  and 
remember  that  she  had  told  him  to  fight  for  Loui- 
siana. His  heart  beat  fast  at  the  mere  thought 
of  her,  for,  try  as  he  might,  he  never  forgot  for  a 
moment  the  desire  of  his  life — the  woman  he  loved 
and  had  lost. 

When  the  French  vessel  came  to  her  anchor- 
age and  the  old  commandant  set  foot  once  more 
on  his  beloved  shore,  a  volley  of  muskets  fired  a 
salute,  and  loud  cries,  swelling  to  shouts  of  tri- 
umph, echoed  along  the  water  and  in  the  reedy 
willow  recesses.  The  youth  and  gallantry  that 
marked  the  early  days  of  Louisiana  were  prom- 
inent in  the  gay  grace  and  splendid  uniforms 
of  the  army.  As  the  old  commandant  walked 
across  the  grassy  levee  and  onward  to  the  Place 
d'Armes,  his  head  erect  and  his  eyes  moist  with 
emotion,  many  an  eye  looked  at  him  with  glances 
of  respect  and  admiration.  Laville  was  on  duty 
at  the  head  of  his  company  in  the  Place  d'Armes, 
and,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  Bienville 
made  straight  for  him,  indifferent  to  all  else,  and 
grasped  both  Laville's  hands.  They  had  not 
met  for  years,  but  Bienville  knew  well  the  prom- 
inent part  Laville  had  taken  in  their  common  tri- 
umph. 

"  Ho,  my  trusty  one,  the  old  warrior  finds  much 
joy  in  the  warm  welcome  of  the  people  of  Louisi- 
ana, but  a  greater  gladness  fills  my  heart  to  greet 

338 


LOVE'S    VICTORY 

you,  Laville  —  stanch  defender  of  the  colony, 
faithful  friend  and  ally!  To  you  I  owe  much 
of  the  triumph  of  this  hour.  Your  untiring  pa- 
tience, your  faithful  service  and  loyalty,  shall 
not  go  unrewarded.  There  is  no  bond  like  that/ 
of  gratitude,  my  friend,  and  in  the  days  to  come 
we  will  fight  side  by  side,  brothers  in  one  cause 
for  Louisiana/' 

Laville's  heart  thrilled;  his  eyes  grew  wet  with 
tears.  For  the  past  two  years  he  had  been 
gradually  climbing  to  prominence,  rising  by 
virtue  of  his  gallant  service  and  ready  devotion 
to  the  people's  cause.  Respected  and  admired 
by  every  man  in  the  colony,  his  courtesy,  daring, 
and  courage  had  won  him  a  place  in  their  very 
hearts,  while  the  story  of  his  love  for  Jeanne 
Poche  had  placed  him  on  a  pinnacle  of  roman- 
tic interest. 

The  Sieur  de  Glaucos  stood  near  and  heard 
Bienville's  words.  He  raised  his  voice  in  a  loud 
shout : 

"ViveleBienville!" 

Every  martial  instinct  within  him  was  aroused, 
and  the  fire  in  his  eyes  and  voice  kindled  a  kin- 
dred feeling  in  those  about  him.  Shouts,  grow- 
ing louder  each  moment,  rose  from  the  people, 
until  the  air  was  rent  with  the  wave  of  their  ex- 
cited enthusiasm. 

At  this  juncture  the  children,  under  the  nuns' 
direction,  sang  a  solemn  chant,  and  the  people 

339 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

joined  them  in  giving  thanks  for  the  dawn  of  a 
new  and  brighter  day  for  Louisiana. 

Laville's  tall  form  towered  everywhere  above 
the  level  of  the  crowd.  He  looked  grave  and 
thoughtful;  there  was  less  of  triumph  in  his 
eyes  than  of  solemn  gladness.  When  the  peo- 
ple gathered  close  around  Bienville,  he  moved  to 
one  side,  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  where  his 
soldiers  were  stationed.  He  had  dreaded  this 
first  meeting  of  the  old  soldier  with  the  colonists, 
fearing  the  people  might  waver  and  fail  to  rise 
to  the  daring  aims  his  ambition  had  planned  for 
Bienville.  But  the  old  soldier  had  come  home 
like  a  conqueror,  and  an  outburst  of  enthusiasm 
met  him  on  every  side.  He  had  looked  forward 
to  this  event  as  the  proudest  day  of  his  life,  and 
yet  why  did  it  leave  him  so  calm,  so  cold? 
Had  the  flavor  gone  out  of  his  life  forever? 
If  she  had  only  been  there  to  share  his  victory! 
But  she  who  might  have  rejoiced  with  him  on 
this  proud  occasion  was  far  away  in  France, 
and  with  the  passage  of  time  doubtless  she  had 
forgotten. 

His  eyes  travelled  towards  the  river.  It  seem- 
ed as  if  only  yesterday  he  had  seen  her  sail  away 
for  France.  She  had  not  seen  him,  but  he  had 
watched  her  go  aboard  the  little  vessel  and  sail 
away — away  forever.  There  was  the  vessel;  it 
was  the  same  ship,  but  the  timbers  looked  older, 
more  weather-beaten,  and  she — she —  He  caught 

340 


LOVE'S    VICTORY 

his  breath  with  a  great  gasp.  Who  was  that 
coming  from  the  ship  attired  in  such  magnifi- 
cence, her  beauty  enhanced  by  the  brilliant  sun- 
light which  seemed  to  envelop  her  in  a  golden 
haze? 

Flushed,  dazzled,  bewildered  by  the  great  crowd 
after  the  long  period  of  ocean  calm  and  solitude, 
Jeanne  Poche  stepped  on  shore  with  her  cousins, 
the  d'Artins. 

Laville's  eyes  were  dim,  and  his  senses  seemed 
to  fail  him  for  a  moment.  Yes,  surely,  that  was 
Jeanne.  She  did  not  see  him,  but  went  on  and 
up  between  the  rose  walls  where  they  had  spent 
so  many  happy  hours.  Bienville's  conquest,  the 
glittering  array  of  the  military  splendor,  the  joy 
of  that  eventful  day,  were  all  dim  and  distant. 
Yonder  in  the  garden,  so  sweet  with  roses,  pass- 
ed the  fairest,  the  dearest  that  earth  held  for  him. 

Three  or  four  days  later,  Laville  met  d'Artin, 
one  afternoon,  crossing  the  Place  d'Armes.  A 
funeral  train  had  just  passed  into  the  church 
across  the  way,  and  for  a  few  seconds  the  whis- 
pered vows  of  a  couple  of  lovers  on  the  prome- 
nade and  the  merry  shouts  of  the  children  at 
play  were  hushed.  The  chanting  voices  from 
the  church  sounded  strangely  sweet,  and  all  in 
an  instant  reminded  Laville  of  that  rainy  day 
when  Jeanne  had  sought  shelter  at  his  house 
from  the  storm.  She  was  in  New  Orleans,  but 
he  had  not  met  her  yet.  Every  night  since  she 

341 


THE     KING'S     MESSENGER 

arrived  he  had  stolen  up  the  rose-bordered  walk 
just  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  or  to  hear  her 
voice.  When  in  all  his  life  had  Laville  been  so 
cordial  to  d'Artin  as  at  that  moment  of  their 
meeting? 

D'Artin  hailed  Laville  with  boyish  eagerness. 

"Oh,  Laville!"  he  cried,  quickly,  "why  haven't 
you  been  around  to  see  us?  You  have  been  tardy 
with  your  greetings  of  welcome.  Have  you  for- 
gotten old  friends  in  the  day  of  your  triumph? 
And  Jeanne — you  must  see  her,  Laville.  She  is 
looking  well." 

Laville's  hand  played  nervously  with  the  han- 
dle of  his  sword.  How  different,  d'Artin  thought, 
this  stately  figure,  so  cold,  so  distant,  from  the 
man  he  had  known  Laville  to  be  two  years  ago. 
Could  it  be  true  that  he  had  forgotten  her  so  soon? 

"Madame  Poche  always  looked  well,  if  my 
memory  fail  me  not,"  said  Laville,  stiffly,  in 
spite  of  his  inward  emotion. 

D'Artin  laughed.  "That  is  a  cold  word  for 
Jeanne.  You  should  see  her — so  radiant,  so 
happy.  The  sunshine  follows  her  everywhere." 

Laville's  heart  gave  a  great  bound. 

"Come  up,  Laville.  You  must  come  soon. 
Madame  d'Artin  is  dying  to  see  you.  The  roses 
in  the  garden  are  at  their  best  now — you  always 
loved  the  roses,  Laville.  Jeanne  sent  them  to 
me  long  ago  from  France.  You  know  how  she 
loves  them,  too."  He  laughed  with  happiness. 

342 


LOVE'S    VICTORY 

"I  believe  flowers  are  the  strongest  passion  of 
her  soul." 

Laville  had  rarely  gone  near  the  d'Artin  resi- 
dence. The  place  was  so  full  of  memories,  and 
to  go  now,  with  all  that  nodding  wall  of  roses  in 
full  bloom — each  rose  would  be  a  haunting  re- 
minder of  those  dear  dead  days. 

But  d'Artin  was  strangely  persistent  in  his 
gay,  good-natured  way,  and  so  Laville  prom- 
ised to  call. 

Laville  passed  on  when  d'Artin  left  him,  and 
crossed  the  Place  d'Armes  and  along  the  shady 
street  facing  the  levee  to  d'Artin's  house.  Now 
that  the  excitement  of  the  past  few  days  was 
over,  his  thoughts  of  Jeanne  had  rushed  upon 
him  in  full  torrent.  He  knew  now  that  he  had 
utterly  failed  to  crush  her  out  of  his  life;  he  could 
not  forget  her.  He  saw  her  again  on  top  of  the 
green  levee.  He  could  hear  the  passionate  quiver 
in  her  voice,  singing  that  little  French  love  tune — 

"  Oh,  my  dearest, 

Oh,  my  fairest! 
For  thy  favor  I  implore. 

I  will  be 

True  to  thee — 
I  will  love  thee  evermore." 

There  was  no  one  in  sight.  The  levee  rose  like 
a  tall,  green  wall,  but  away  bejTond  he  could  see 
the  Mississippi,  with  a  solitary  vessel  on  its  bos- 

343 


THE    KING'S    MESSENGER 

om,  fading  off  towards  the  gulf.  Along  the  road 
the  sunlight  flashed  in  the  open  places  like  patches 
of  gold.  Long  pendants  of  Spanish  moss  waved 
from  the  dark  boughs  of  the  live-oak  at  the  gate, 
and  from  the  heavy  shadows  a  night  bird  flew 
across  the  garden.  The  song — her  song  again, 
but  this  time  it  was  no  dream. 

"  Oh,  my  dearest, 
Oh,  my  fairest — " 

Beyond  any  doubt  it  was  she.  Quickly  he 
passed  through  the  wicket  to  where  she  stood. 

It  was  a  supreme  moment  for  both,  but  it  was 
the  woman  who  had  perfect  command  of  herself. 

"Well,  my  captain!" 

She  swept  him  a  bewildering  courtesy,  the 
shimmering  folds  of  her  light  gown  crumpling 
and  following  the  shape  of  her  limbs.  One  high- 
heeled  slippered  foot  peeped  out  beneath  the  lace 
of  her  uplifted  skirts,  and  she  moved  to  meet 
him,  holding  out  her  hand  in  welcome.  La- 
ville  took  her  hand  in  his,  fearing  to  betray  his 
emotion. 

The  roses  nodded  in  the  faint  April  breeze. 

"Welcome  back,  madame,"  he  said,  lamely, 
"to  our  Louisiana." 

She  smiled  and  drew  a  long  breath,  then  as 
quickly  frowned  and  feigned  discontent. 

"Ah,  my  captain,  you  do  not  look  glad  to  see 


me." 


344 


LOVE'S     VICTORY 

He  started  and  looked  into  her  eyes.  But  no, 
she  was  so  cool,  so  calmly  poised;  she  did  not 
care. 

"Come,  monsieur,  let  us  go  into  the  garden 
and  sit  under  the  oaks  and  watch  the  sunset. 
Madame  d'Artin  has  gone  to  church,  so  I  will 
have  to  entertain  you." 

"You  have  only  to  open  your  lips,  madame," 
replied  Laville,  "  or  even  smile,  and  we  come  un- 
der your  spell  instantly." 

She  raised  her  face  to  his,  a  shade  of  disap- 
pointment crossing  its  life  and  color. 

"Flattery  used  not  to  come  easily  to  your 
tongue,  my  captain.  The  years  have  brought 
you  better  grace.  Perchance  I  see  a  courtier 
who  may  yet  enliven  King  Louis's  court.  Faith, 
he  is  in  sad  need  of  recruits."  She  laughed 
merrily. 

"  Madame,  the  free  manners  of  honest  men  best 
become  us  rough  soldiers  of  the  wilderness.  The 
court  of  France  will  never  lure  me  from  my  duty 
in  Louisiana." 

They  walked  slowly  up  the  rose-bordered  walk 
and  thence  across  the  wide  garden  to  the  little 
arbor  under  the  live-oaks.  Over  against  the 
house  great  rose-vines  climbed  up  to  the  second- 
story  windows  and  dropped  down  in  a  wealth  of 
blossoms;  big,  well-trimmed  bushes  crowded  the 
crape-myrtles,  and  in  every  available  place  the 
fragrant  beauties  bloomed  in  extravagant  lavish- 

345 


THE    KING'S     MESSENGER 

ness.     The  whole  air  was  perfumed  by  roses  and 
night-blooming  jasmine. 

Jeanne  shivered  with  the  rapture  of  it  all. 

"Was  ever  anything  so  beautiful  as  this?"  she 
said,  nestling  the  red  rose  in  her  hand  against 
her  cheek. 

"Nothing  but  the  eyes  of  a  woman." 

The  words  were  uttered  lightly,  but  there  was 
a  wondrous  thrill  in  his  voice  that  belied  flat- 
tery. 

I   "The  eyes  of  a  woman  are  like  the  heart  of  a 
rose — a  subtle  mystery." 

She  laughed  softly  and  sat  down  on  the  old 
rustic  seat. 

Laville  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  then  sat 
on  the  grass  near  her  feet,  where  he  could  look 
up  and  see  every  change  in  the  variable,  smil- 
ing face.  Her  ready  reply  nonplussed  him. 
The  penetrating  perfume  that  had  ever  clung  to 
her  garments  floated  around  him  like  a  caress. 

"Would  that  I  could  decipher  the  mystery 
that  lies  in  one  pair  of  eyes,"  he  said,  in  an  un- 
dertone. 

"Oh,  my  captain,  if  you  were  not  blind,  you 
might  find  what  you  seek." 

"Jeanne!  What  do  you  mean?"  His  eyes 
were  averted  from  her  face.  '  The  years  have 
left  deep  scars  on  my  heart,  Jeanne.  I  cannot 
bear  to  have  the  old  wounds  opened." 

In  the  silence  drifting  rose-petals  fell  softly  on 
346 


LOVE'S     VICTORY 

her  hair  and  gown.  Her  lips  were  slightly  part- 
ed, her  green-gray  eyes  soft  and  brilliant.  She 
was  so  near  him  —  there  was  a  hint  of  surren- 
der in  her  manner — could  it  be  true? 

"I  do  not  understand,  my  captain,"  she  re- 
plied, toying  with  the  rose.  "You  mean  that — " 

"That  it  is  cruel  to  awaken  old  memories. 
Jeanne,  Jeanne,  I  thought  I  had  learned  to  live 
as  if  you  were  not — I  thought  I  had  schooled 
myself  for  this  meeting,  but  God  knows  I  can- 
not forget  you — I  long  for  you  with  my  whole 
soul,  Jeanne — " 

He  rose  to  his  feet.     Her  heart  was  in  a  tumult. 

"You  are  unjust  to  me,"  he  went  on,  with  a 
dark  flush  on  his  face.  "I  have  thought  of 
scarcely  anything  but  you — you — you — and  now 
that  we  are  together  again,  you  seem  to  forget 
it  all." 

There  was  a  dangerous  catch  in  her  voice  when 
she  spoke. 

"It  is  the  season  of  the  rose-blooms.  I  have 
always  wanted  to  come  back  to  Louisiana  at  this 
time." 

"Why?" 

"  Because — because  roses  seem  the  unconscious 
symbols  of  love." 

"And  what  is  that  to  you?" 

Her  eyes  changed.  The  green-gray  faded,  and 
they  grew  wonderfully  soft  and  caressing  as  she 
met  his  searching  gaze. 

347 


THE     KING'S    MESSENGER 

"It  is  life  to  me." 

"Jeanne!" 

She  held  her  white  arms  out  and  gave  herself 
to  him  with  a  look  of  infinite  tenderness. 

"Julian!  Julian!" 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  called  him 
by  his  name.  With  a  great  cry  he  bent  over 
her  and  caught  her  close — so  close  to  his  heart. 
The  world  was  well  lost  for  that  hour  in  the 
garden  of  love. 

The  sun  set,  and  the  swift  rose  twilight  flush- 
ed all  the  wondrous  beauty  of  the  Southern  land. 
High  up  in  the  vaulted  heavens,  clear,  pure,  radi- 
ant, a  new  star  shone  on  its  course,  while  over 
in  the  darkening  garden,  faintly  drifting,  sweet- 
ly falling,  one  by  one,  the  rose-petals  crowned 
love's  victory. 


THE   END 


BY  S.  E.  CROCKETT 


KIT  KENNEDY— COUNTRY  BOY.    Illustrated  by 
A.  I.  KELLER. 

THE   RED   AXE.     A  Novel.     Illustrated  by  FRANK 
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of  his  powers  and  graces  as  a  constructionist  and  narrator. — 
Washington  Times. 

THE   GRAY   MAN.     A  Novel.     Illustrated  by  SET- 
HOUR  LUCAS,  R.A. 

A  strong  book,  .  .  .  masterly  in  its  portrayals  of  character  and 
historic  events. — Boston  Congregationalist. 

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CARDIGAN.     Illustrated.     $i  50. 

A  rattling  good  Indian  story  of  the  days  just  before  the 
Revolution.  The  descriptions  of  frontier  life  and  Indian 
fighting  remind  one  of  Stephen  Crane  at  his  best.  The  love 
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Cloth,  $i  50. 

There  is  an  unmistakable  brilliancy  about  "  The  Con- 
spirators"; the  rollicking  spirits  of  the  hero,  the  man  who 
tells  the  story,  are  infectious,  and  his  ardor  in  love  is  delight- 
fully romantic. — Chicago  Tribune. 

LORRAINE.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $i  25. 

"  Lorraine  "  will  appeal  irresistibly  to  those  who  appreciate 
the  best  type  of  adventure  story,  and  is  to  be  further  com- 
mended for  its  historical  color  and  for  the  delicacy  of  its  love 
element. 

Of  this  novel  The  Interior  says :  "A  more  absorbing 
story  could  scarcely  be  imagined ;  there  is  no  better  tale  among 
recent  publications  than  '  Lorraine.'  " 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

y  of  the  above  works  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  pre- 
paid, to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on 
receipt  of  the  price. 


BY  RICHARD  HARDING  DAVIS 


HER  FIRST  APPEARANCE.  Printed  from  type 
in  color,  with  color  borders  by  E.  M.  ASHE  and 
full-page  drawings  by  CHARLES  DANA  GlB- 
SON.  $1  25. 

A  YEAR  FROM  A  REPORTER'S  NOTE-BOOK. 
Illustrated  by  R.  CATON  WOODVILLE,  T.  DE 

THULSTRUP,  and  FREDERIC  REMINGTON,  and 

from  Photographs  taken  by  the  Author.   $i  50. 

THREE  GRINGOS  IN  VENEZUELA  AND  CEN- 
TRAL AMERICA.  Illustrated.  $i  50. 

ABOUT  PARIS.  Illustrated  by  C.  D.  GIBSON. 
$i  25. 

THE  PRINCESS  ALINE.  Illustrated  by  C.  D. 
GIBSON.  $i  25. 

THE  EXILES,  AND  OTHER  STORIES.  Illus- 
trated. $i  50. 

VAN  BIBBER,  AND  OTHERS.  Illustrated  by 
C.  D.  GIBSON.  $i  00;  Paper,  60  cents. 

THE  WEST  FROM  A  CAR-WINDOW.  Illus- 
trated by  FREDERIC  REMINGTON.  $i  25. 

OUR    ENGLISH    COUSINS.     Illustrated.    $i  25. 

THE  RULERS  OF  THE  MEDITERRANEAN. 
Illustrated.  $i  25. 

Post  8vo,  Ornamented  Cloth. 
Mr.  Davis  has  eyes  to  see,  is  not  a  bit  afraid  to  tell  what 

he  sees,  and  is  essentially  good-natured.    .    .    .    Mr.    Davis's 

faculty  of  appreciation  and  enjoyment  is  fresh  and  strong  : 

he  makes  vivid  pictures. — Outlook,  N.  Y. 

Richard  Harding  Davis  never  writes  a  short  story  that  he 

does  not  prove  himself  a  master  of  the  art. — Chicago  Times. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

ny  of  the  above  works  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  pre- 
paid, to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on 
receipt  of  the  price. 


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